THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

1557  A.  D. 
A  STORY  FOR  GIRLS 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELEff 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

CHILDREN-  OF  FANCY   (Poems)      $2.00 

JACOPO  ROBUSTT,  CALLED  TINTORETTO  (Out  of  print) 

ARCHITECTURES  OF  EUROPEAN  RELIGIONS $2.00 

THE  NEED  FOR  ART  IN  LIFE 75 

G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 

GRAND  CENTRAL  TERMINAL,  NEW  YORK 


THE 
CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

A  STORY  FOR  GIRLS.     1557  A.D. 


BY 

IAN  B.  STOUGHTON  HOLBORN 


Ifl 
II 


1916 
G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 

NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY  G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 


COPYRIGHT  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  AND  COLONIES 


DEDICATED 

TO 
AVIS  DOLPHIN 


21 "0288 


PEEFACE 

On  the  analogy  of  the  famous  apple, — "there  ain't 
going  to  be  no"  preface,  "not  nohow."  Children  do 
not  read  prefaces,  so  anything  of  a  prefatory  nature 
that  might  interest  them  is  put  at  the  beginning  of  chap- 
ter one. 

As  for  the  grown-ups  the  story  is  not  written  for  grown- 
ups, and  if  they  want  to  know  why  it  begins  with  such  a 
gruesome  first  chapter,  let  them  ask  the  children.  Chil- 
dren like  the  horrors  first  and  the  end  all  bright.  Many 
grown-ups  like  the  tragedy  at  the  end.  But  perhaps  the 
children  are  right  and  the  grown-ups  are  standing  on 
their  heads.  Besides  they  can  skip  the  first  chapter ;  it  is 
only  a  prologue. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    HATE 1 

II    SECRETS 9 

III  HATE  AND  LOVE 29 

IV  THE  PRISONER 55 

V    THE  THIEF. .79 

VI    BITTERNESS .94 

VII    DEATH 104 

VIII    REMORSE Ill 

IX    THE  JUDGMENT 115 

X    THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT 126 

XI    SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS 140 

XII     "  MOLL  o'  THE  GRAVES  " 156 

XIII  COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS 166 

XIV  GOOD-BYE 182 

XV    THE  TERBOE  OF  THE  MIST 189 

XVI    A  DESPERATE  TASK 200 

XVII     CARLISLE 217 

XVIII     A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY 226 

XIX    THE  Loss .247 

XX    PERSECUTION 253 

XXI    TORTURE .259 

XXII    To  THE  RESCUE 282 

XXIII  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH 296 

XXIV  A  RIDE  IN  VAIN 317 

XXV    AMAZING  DISCOVERIES 329 

XXVI    THE  BATTLE  OF  LIDDISDALE 344 

XXVII    THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY     . 354 

XXVIII    THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 378 

XXIX    A  TALE  OF  A  TUB .388 

XXX  THE  GREAT  IRON  CHEST                                           .  401 


A,  STAIRCASE  TO  SOLAB  AND  ALINE'S  ROOM;  B,  STAIRCASE  TO 
SOLAS  AND  NORTH  ROOMS;  C,  BUTTERY  (the  place  where  the 
drink  was  kept,  Cf.  French  boire)  ;  D,  PANTRY  (the  place 
where  the  food  was  kept,  Cf.  French  pain) ;  E,  CHAPEL. 

NOTE. — The  approach  is  from  the  north,  therefore  the  usual 
position  of  the  compass  is  inverted.  The  scale  is  a  scale  of 
feet. 


PLAN  OF  THE  HALL 
HOLWICK,  YORKSHIRE 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE 
MOAT 

A  STORY  FOR  GIRLS 


CHAPTER  I 

HATE 

Sweet  children  of  demurest  air, 

Pale  blossoms  woven  through  your  hair, 

On  shifting  rainbows  gathering, 
Endowed  with  love's  engaging  mien 
And  crowding  lips  that  toward  me  lean, 
Through   little   hands,   outstretched   between 

In  sympathetic  wondering. 

Children,  ye  cannot  understand, 
Floating  in  that  enchanted  land, 

The  pathos  of  our  helplessness; 
And  yet  your  winsome  faces  bear, 
Though  ye  yourselves  are  unaware, 
The  antidote  of  our  despair, — 

Exorcists  of  our  hopelessness. 

Children  of  Fancy:     The  Guelder  Roses. 

THE  great  ship  Lusitania  was  nearing  Queens- 
town  on  May  7th,  1915,  when  a  terrible  explo- 
sion occurred,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  she  had 
sunk.     Among  some  1700  adults  and  500  children  were 
a  lecturer  on  art  and  archaeology  and  a  little  girl,  with 
whom  he  had  made  friends  on  board.     About  700  people 
escaped  and  these  two  were  both  eventually  picked  up  out 
of  the  water.    When  they  reached  the  land  there  was  no 

1 


2  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

one  left  to  look  after  her;  so  he  first  took  her  across  to 
her  relatives  in  England  and  then  she  went  to  live  in  the 
home  of  the  archaeologist,  in  Scotland,  who  had  three 
little  boys  of  his  own  but  no  little  girls. 

Archaeologists  do  not  know  anything  about  girls' 
story  books,  and  he  may  have  been  misinformed  when  he 
was  told  that  girls'  books  were  too  tame  and  that  most 
girls  preferred  to  read  the  more  exciting  books  of  their 
brothers.  However,  this  made  him  decide  himself  to 
write  a  story  for  the  little  girl,  which  should  be  full  of 
adventures.  It  was  frankly  a  melodramatic  story,  a  story 
of  love  and  hate,  and  he  chose  the  period  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, so  as  to  have  two  parties  bitterly  opposed  to  each 
other;  but,  except  for  dramatic  purposes,  religious  prob- 
lems were  as  far  as  possible  left  out. 

One  difficulty  was  as  to  whether  the  characters  should 
speak  in  old  English;  but,  as  that  might  have  made  it 
hard  to  read,  only  a  few  old  words  and  phrases  were 
introduced  here  and  there,  just,  as  it  were,  to  give  a 
flavour. 

Afterwards  the  author  was  asked  to  publish  the  story 
' '  for  precocious  girls  of  thirteen, "  as  it  was  delightfully 
phrased ;  that  is  to  say,  for  girls  of  thirteen  and  upwards 
and  perhaps  for  grown  up  people,  but  hardly  for  supe- 
rior young  ladies  of  about  seventeen;  and  this  is  the 
story : 

Father  Laurence,  the  parish  priest  of  Middleton,  was 
returning  home  from  Holwick  on  a  dark  night  in  the 
late  spring.  He  had  come  from  the  bedside  of  a  dying 
woman  and  the  scene  was  unpleasantly  impressed  on  his 
mind.  Sarah  Moulton  had  certainly  not  been  a  blessing 


HATE  3 

to  her  neighbours,  but,  in  spite  of  that,  he  felt  sorry  for 
the  delicate  child  left  behind,  as  he  did  not  see  what  was 
to  become  of  it.  He  felt  very  troubled,  too,  about  the 
poor  creature,  herself,  for  was  not  his  task  the  cure  of 
souls  ?  Not  that  Sarah  Moulton  was  much  of  a  mother ; 
but  perhaps  any  kind  of  a  mother  was  better  than  noth- 
ing, and  the  poor  child  had  loved  her ;  yet,  after  she  had 
received  the  viaticum,  she  had  given  vent  to  the  most 
frightful  curses  on  her  neighbours.  "If  I  cannot  get 
the  better  of  Janet  Arnside  in  life,"  she  had  screamed, 
"I  will  get  the  better  of  her  when  I  am  dead.  I  will 
haunt  her  and  drive  her  down  the  path  to  Hell,  I  will 
never  let  her  rest,  I  will  ..."  and  with  these  words  on 
her  lips  the  soul  had  fled  from  her  body.  He  sighed  a 
little  wearily.  He  was  famished  and  worn  for  he  had 
previously  been  a  long  tramp  nearly  to  Lunedale.  "I 
do  my  best,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  afraid  the  task  is  too 
difficult  for  me.  I  wish  there  were  some  one  better  than 
myself  in  Upper  Teesdale :  poor  Sarah !  ' ' 

Father  Laurence'  way  led  through  the  churchyard, 
but  clear  as  his  conscience  was,  he  had  never  been  able  to 
free  himself  from  a  certain  fear  in  passing  through  it  on 
a  dark  night.  Could  it  be  true  that  the  spirits  of  the 
departed  could  plague  the  living?  Of  course  it  could 
not ;  and  yet,  somehow,  he  was  not  able  to  rid  himself  of 
the  unwelcome  thought.  As  he  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage and  drew  nearer  to  the  church,  he  half  resolved  to 
go  round.  No,  that  was  cowardly  and  absurd.  He  would 
not  allow  idle  superstitions  to  get  the  better  of  him. 

But  when  he  approached  the  gate  he  hesitated  and  his 
heart  began  to  beat  violently.  What  was  that  unearthly 
screech  in  the  darkness  of  the  night?  He  crossed  him- 


4  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

self  devoutly,  however,  and  said  a  Paternoster  and 
stepped  through  the  wicket  gate.  "  'Libera  nos  a  malo,' 
yes,  deliver  us  from  evil,  indeed,"  he  said,  as,  dimly  on 
the  sky  line  he  saw  a  shadowy  figure  with  long  gaunt 
arms  stretched  to  the  sky. 

He  crossed  himself  again,  when  a  ghoulish  laugh  rang 
through  the  still  night  air.  He  turned  a  little  to  the  left, 
but  the  figure  came  swiftly  toward  him.  He  wanted  to 
run,  but  duty  bade  him  refrain.  His  heart  beat  yet  more 
violently  as  the  figure  approached  and  at  length  he  stood 
still,  unable  to  move. 

The  figure  came  closer,  and  closer  still,  stretching  out 
its  arms,  and  finally  a  harsh  voice  said :  "Is  that  you, 
Father  Laurence?  Ha!  Ha!  I  told  you  Sarah  Moul- 
ton  would  die.  You  need  not  tell  me  about  it." 

It  was  old  Mary,  "Moll  o'  the  graves,"  as  the  folk 
used  to  call  her.  Father  Laurence  felt  a  little  reassured, 
but  she  was  not  one  whom  anybody  would  wish  to  meet 
on  a  dark  night,  least  of  all  in  a  churchyard. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mary?  Why  are  you  not  in 
your  bed,"  he  asked;  "disturbing  honest  folk  at  this 
time  of  night?" 

"You  let  me  alone,"  she  replied,  "with  your  saints 
and  your  prayers  and  your  Holy  Mother.  I  go  where  I 
please  and  do  as  I  please.  I  knew  Sarah  would  die.  I 
like  folk  to  die,"  she  said  with  horrible  glee;  "and  she 
cursed  Janet  Arnside,  did  she?  A  curse  on  them  all, 
every  one  of  them.  I  wish  she  would  die  too;  ay,  and 
that  slip  of  a  girl  that  Sarah  has  left  behind.  What  are 
you  shaking  for?"  she  added.  "Do  you  think  I  do  not 
know  what  is  going  on?  You  have  nothing  to  tell  me; 


HATE  5 

I  assure  you  the  powers  are  on  our  side.  There  is  noth- 
ing like  the  night  and  the  dark." 

' '  You  are  a  wicked  woman,  Mary, ' '  said  the  old  priest 
sorrowfully,  "and  God  will  punish  you  one  day.  See 
you — I  am  going  home ;  you  go  home  too. ' ' 

''You  may  go  home  if  you  like,"  said  the  old  hag  as 
he  moved  on,  "and  my  curses  go  with  you;  but  I  stay 
here;"  and  she  stood  and  looked  after  him  as  he  faded 
into  the  darkness. 

"Silly  old  dotard,"  she  growled;  "I  saw  him  at  her 
bedside  or  ever  I  came  along  here.  The  blessed  sacra- 
ment indeed ;  and  much  may  it  profit  her !  I  wish  now  I 
had  waited  and  seen  what  he  did  after  she  had  gone; 
comforted  that  child,  I  expect !  Fancy  loving  a  mother 
like  that!  Ha!  Ha!  No,  I  am  glad  I  came  here  and 
scared  the  pious  old  fool. ' ' 

She  moved  among  the  tombs  and  sat  down  near  an 
open  grave  that  had  just  been  dug.  ' '  Pah !  I  am  sick  of 
their  nonsense.  Why  cannot  they  leave  folk  in  peace? 
I  want  to  go  my  own  way ;  why  should  I  not  go  my  own 
way?  All  my  life  they  have  been  at  me,  ever  since  I 
was  a  little  girl.  My  foolish  old  mother  began  it.  Why 
should  I  not  please  myself?  Well,  she's  dead  anyway! 
I  like  people  to  die.  And  now  Mother  Church  is  at  me. 
Why  should  I  think  of  other  people,  why  should  I  al- 
ways be  holding  myself  in  control  ?  No,  I  let  myself  go, 
I  please  myself." 

' '  I  have  no  patience  with  any  of  them, ' '  she  muttered, 
"and  now  there  is  a  new  one  to  plague  me,"  and  "Moll 
o'  the  graves"  saw  in  her  mind's  eye  a  slim,  graceful 
girl  of  twelve,  endowed  with  an  unparalleled  refinement 


6  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

of  beauty.  "What  do  they  mean  by  bringing  that  child 
to  Holwick  Hall, ' '  she  continued,  "as  if  things  were  not 
bad  enough  already, — a-running  round  and  waiting  on 
folk,  a-tending  the  sick  and  all  the  rest  of  it  ?  Let  them 
die!  I  like  them  to  die.  Self-sacrifice  and  self-control 
forsooth !  They  say  she  is  clever  and  well-schooled  and 
mistress  of  herself  and  withal  sympathetic.  What's  the 
good  of  unselfishness  and  self-control?  No,  liberty, 
liberty — that's  the  thing  for  you,  Moll.  Self-control, 
indeed!"  and  again  the  ghastly  laugh  rang  through  the 
night  air.  "Yes,  liberty,  Moll, — liberty.  Are  you  not 
worth  more  than  all  their  church-ridden  priests  and 
docile  unselfish  children?  What  avails  unselfishness 
and  affection?  Father  Laurence  and  Aline  Gillespie, 
there's  a  pair  of  them!  No,  hate  is  the  thing,  hate  is 
better  than  love.  Scandal  and  spite  and  jealousy — 
that's  true  joy,  that's  the  true  woman,  Moll,"  and  she 
rubbed  her  hands  with  unholy  mirth. 

As  she  talked  to  herself  the  moon  rose  and  gradually 
the  churchyard  became  light.  "Love!"  she  went  on, 
"love!  Yes,  Oswald,  that's  where  they  laid  you,"  she 
said,  as  she  looked  at  the  next  place  to  the  open  grave. 
"Ah,  but  hate  got  the  better  of  your  love,  for  all  that, 
fine  big  man  that  you  were,  a  head  taller  than  the  rest 
of  the  parish,  and  all  the  girls  after  you,  too ! ' ' 

She  looked  at  the  side  of  the  open  grave,  where  the 
end  of  a  bone  protruded.  She  pulled  it  out.  It  was  a 
femur  of  unusual  size.  "Yes,  Oswald,"  she  repeated, 
"and  that's  yours.  You  did  not  think  I  would  be  hold- 
ing your  thigh-bone  these  forty  years  after ! 

"Ha!  you  loved  me,  did  you?  I  was  a  pretty  lass 
then.  Yes,  you  loved  me,  I  know  you  loved  me.  You 


HATE  7 

would  have  died  for  me,  and  I  loved  you,  too.  But 
little  Sarah  loved  you  and  you  loved  her.  I  know  you 
loved  me  most,  but  I  would  not  have  that.  '  I  should  have 
controlled  myself,'  you  say;  ha!  I  was  jealous  and  I 
hated  you.  Self-control  and  love; — no,  no,  liberty  and 
hate,  liberty  and  hate;  and  when  you  were  ill  I  came 
to  see  you  and  I  saw  the  love-light  in  your  eyes.  They 
thought  you  would  get  well.  Of  course  you  would  have 
got  well;  but  there  you  were,  great  big,  strong  man, 
weak  as  a  child, — a  child!  I  hate  children.  Was  that 
it?  You  tried  to  push  my  hands  off,  as  I  pressed  the 
pillow  on  your  face,  you  tried ;  oh,  you  tried  hard,  and  I 
laugh  to  think  of  it  even  now.  How  I  longed  to  bury 
my  fingers  in  your  throat,  but  I  knew  they  would  leave 
marks. 

"Yes,  liberty  and  hate,  ha!  ha!  I  would  do  it  again. 
See,  Oswald ! ' '  and  she  took  the  brittle  bone  and  viciously 
snapped  it  across  her  knee.  "Self-control!  love!  un- 
selfishness! Never!  And  that  child  up  at  the  Hall, 
Oswald,  I  must  send  her  after  you.  I  have  just  fright- 
ened Sarah  down  to  you.  You  can  have  her  now,  and 
that  child  shall  come  next.  Hate  is  stronger  than  love. 
Liberty,  self-will  and  hate  must  win  in  the  end. ' ' 

The  abandoned  old  wretch  stood  up  and  took  her 
stick — she  could  not  stand  quite  straight — and  hobbled 
with  uncanny  swiftness  across  to  a  newly  made  child's 
grave  and  began  to  scrape  with  her  hands;  but  at  that 
moment  she  heard  the  night-watchman  coming  along  the 
lane;  so  she  rose  and  walked  back  to  Newbiggin,  where 
she  lived. 

She  opened  the  door  and  found  the  tinder  box  and 
struck  a  light,  and  then  went  to  a  corner  where  there  was 


8  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

an  old  chest.  She  unlocked  it  and  peered  in  and  lifted 
out  a  bag  and  shook  it.  It  was  full  of  gold.  "Yes," 
she  said,  "money  is  a  good  thing,  too.  How  little  they 
know  what  'old  Moll  o'  the  graves'  has  got, — old,  in- 
deed, Moll  is  not  old!  Ah,  could  not  that  money  tell 
some  strange  tales?  Love  and  learning  and  self-con- 
trol! Leave  all  that  to  the  priests.  Hate  will  do  for 
me, — money  and  liberty  are  my  gods. 

"Aha,  Aline  Gillespie,  you  little  fool,  what  do  you 
mean  by  crossing  my  path?  I  was  a  pretty  little  girl 
once  and  you  are  not  going  to  win  the  love  of  Upper 
Teesdale  folk  for  nothing,  I'll  warrant  you." 


I 


CHAPTER  II 

SECRETS 

*  *  "f  AM  so  tired  of  this  rain, ' '  said  Audry,  as  she 
rose  and  crossed  the  solar  *  and  went  to  the  tall 
bay  window  with  its  many  mullions  and  sat 
down  on  the  window  seat.  "It  is  three  days  since  we 
have  been  able  to  get  out  and  no  one  has  seen  the  top  of 
Mickle  Fell  for  a  week.  The  gale  is  enough  to  deafen 
one,"  she  added,  "while  the  moat  is  like  a  stormy  sea, — 
and  just  look  at  the  mad  dancers  in  the  rain-rings  on  the 
water ! ' ' 

It  was  a  terrible  day,  the  river  was  in  spate t  indeed, 
carrying  down  great  trees  and  broken  fences  and  even, 
now  and  then,  some  unfortunate  beast  that  had  been 
swept  away  in  the  violence  of  the  storm. 

' '  The  High  Force  must  be  a  wonderful  sight  though, ' ' 
she  continued,  "the  two  falls  must  be  practically  one  in 
all  this  deluge." 

"I  do  not  altogether  mind  the  rain,"  said  her  little 
friend;  "there  is  something  wonderful  about  it  and  I 
always  rather  like  the  sound  of  the  wind;  it  has  a  nice 
eerie  suggestion,  and  makes  me  think  of  delightful  stories 
of  fairies  and  goblins  and  strange  adventures." 

"Well,  that  may  be  all  right  for  you,  Aline,  because 
you  can  tell  magnificent  stories  yourself;  but  I  cannot, 

*  The  predecessor  of  the  withdrawing  room  or  drawing  room, 
t  In  torrent. 

9 


10  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

and  it  only  makes  me  feel  creepy  and  the  rain  annoys 
me  because  I  cannot  go  out.  I  wish  that  we  had  adven- 
tures ourselves,  but  of  course  nothing  exciting  ever  hap- 
pens to  us." 

"They  probably  would  not  really  be  nice  if  they  did 
happen.  These  things  are  better  to  read  about  than  to 
experience. ' ' 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Audry;  "anyway,  the  only 
exciting  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me  was  when  you 
came  to  stay  here.  I  really  was  excited  when  mother 
told  me  that  a  distant  cousin  of  my  own  age  was  coming 
from  Scotland  to  live  with  us;  and  I  made  all  sorts  of 
pictures  of  you  in  my  mind.  I  thought  that  you  would 
have  a  freckled  face  and  be  very  big  and  strong  and  fond 
of  climbing  trees  and  jumping  and  good  shouting  noisy 
games  and  that  kind  of  thing. ' ' 

"You  must  be  very  disappointed  then." 

"No,  not  exactly;  I  never  thought  that  you  would  be 
so  pretty : — was  your  mother  pretty,  Aline  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not  remember  my  mother,"  and  a  momentary 
cloud  seemed  to  pass  over  the  child's  beautiful  face, 
"but  her  portrait  that  Master  Lindsay  painted  is  very 
beautiful,  and  father  always  said  that  it  did  not  do  her 
justice.  It  is  very  young,  not  much  older  than  I  am; 
she  was  still  very  young  when  she  died." 

"How  old  was  she?" 

"I  do  not  know  exactly,"  Aline  answered,  moving 
over  to  the  window-seat  and  sitting  down  by  Audry, 
"but  I  remember  there  was  once  some  talk  about  it. 
Her  name  was  Margaret  and  she  was  named  after  her 
grandmother  or  her  great  grandmother,  who  was  lady 
in  waiting  to  Queen  Margaret,  and  who  not  only  had  the 


SECRETS  11 

same  name  as  the  Queen  but  was  born  on  the  same  day 
and  married  on  the  same  day." 

"What  Queen  Margaret,"  asked  Audry,  "and  how 
has  it  anything  to  do  with  your  mother  ? ' ' 

"Well,  that  is  just  what  I  forget,"  said  Aline  with  a 
smile  like  April  sunshine ; — ' '  I  used  to  think  it  was  your 
queen,  Margaret  of  Anjou,  who  married  Henry  IV ;  but 
she  seems  to  be  rather  far  back,  so  I  have  thought  it 
might  be  Margaret  Tudor,  who  married  our  James  IV. 

"I  expected  their  age  would  settle  it,"  she  continued, 
stretching  out  her  arms  and  putting  her  hands  on  Au- 
dry 's  knees.  ' '  I  looked  it  up ;  but  they  were  almost  the 
same,  your  queen  was  fourteen  years  and  one  month 
when  she  married  and  ours  was  thirteen  years  and  nine 
months.  But  I  know  that  mother  was  exactly  six 
months  older  to  a  day  when  she  married,  and  I  know 
that  she  died  before  the  year  was  out." 

"Then  she  was  not  nearly  sixteen  anyway,"  said  Au- 
dry ;  ' '  how  sad  to  die  before  one  was  sixteen ! ' ' 

"Yes,  Audry,  it  is  terrible,  but  there  is  worse  than 
that, — think  of  poor  Lady  Jane  Grey  who  was  barely 
sixteen  when  she  and  her  husband  were  executed. 
Father  used  to  tell  me  that  I  was  something  like  the 
Lady  Jane." 

"Had  he  seen  her?" 

"No,  I  do  not  think  so;  he  was  in  France  with  our 
Queen  Mary  at  the  time  of  the  Lady  Jane's  death  and 
your  Queen  Mary 's  accession :  for  a  short  time  he  was  a 
captain  in  the  Scots  Guard  in  France. ' ' 

"Were  you  with  him  and  have  you  seen  the  Queen? 
She  is  about  your  age,  is  she  not  ? ' ' 

' '  No,  I  have  not  seen  her,  but  she  is  a  little  older  than  I 


12  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

am.  She  is  fourteen  and  is  extraordinarily  beautiful. 
They  say  her  wedding  to  the  Dauphin  is  to  take  place 
very  soon.  If  father  had  been  alive  I  might  have 
seen  it." 

"Was  your  father  good  looking?"  asked  Audry. 

"Yes,  he  was  said  to  be  the  handsomest  man  in  the 
Lothians. ' ' 

"That  explains  it,  then,"  she  went  on,  looking  some- 
what enviously  at  her  companion;  "but  I  wish  you 
cared  more  for  games  and  horses  and  running  and  a  good 
romp  and  were  not  so  fond  of  old  books.  Fancy  a  girl 
of  your  age  being  able  to  read  the  Latin  as  well  as  a 
priest.  Father  says  that  you  know  far  more  Latin  than 
he  does  and  that  you  can  even  read  the  Greek. ' ' 

"But  I  can  run,"  Aline  objected,  "and  I  can  swim, 
too." 

"Yes,  you  can  run,  though  you  do  not  look  like  it,  you 
wee  slender  thing,  but  you  do  not  love  it  as  I  do ; "  and 
Audry  stood  up  to  display  her  sturdy  little  form.  ' '  Now 
if  we  were  to  wrestle, ' '  she  said,  ' '  where  would  you  be  ? " 

Aline  only  laughed  and  said:  "Well,  there  is  one 
good  thing  in  reading  books,  it  gives  one  something  to 
do  in  wet  weather.  Let  us  go  down  to  the  library  and 
see  if  I  cannot  find  something  nice  to  read  to  you. ' ' 

"Come  along,  then,  and  read  to  me  from  that  funny 
old  book  by  Master  Malory,  with  the  pictures." 

"You  mean  the  'Morte  d 'Arthur,'  I  suppose,  with  the 
stories  of  King  Arthur  and  the  Bound  Table.  That  cer- 
tainly is  exciting  and  I  am  so  fond  of  it.  I  often  wish 
that  there  were  knights  going  about  now  to  fight  for  us 
in  tourney  and  to  rescue  us  from  tyrants.  It  would  be 
nice  to  have  anybody  care  for  one  so  much." 


SECRETS  13 

"You  silly  little  one,  they  would  not  trouble  their 
heads  about  you,  you  are  only  twelve  years  old. ' ' 

"Perhaps  not,"  answered  Aline  with  a  half  sigh,  as 
she  thought  of  her  present  condition. 

"I  do  not  believe  there  is  anybody  in  the  world  that 
cares  for  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "except  perhaps 
Audry,  and  I  have  only  known  her  such  a  little  time  that 
she  cannot  care  much.  I  don't  suppose  there  are  many 
little  girls  who  can  be  as  lonely  as  I  am.  I  have  not 
even  an  aunt  or  uncle.  Yes,  I  do  want  some  one  to 
love  me,  it  is  all  so  very  hard ;  I  wish  I  had  a  sister  or  a 
brother. ' ' 

In  a  way,  doubtless,  Audry 's  mother  did  not  mean 
to  be  altogether  cruel ;  but  she  had  no  love  for  her  small 
visitor  and  thought  that  it  was  unnecessary  for  Master 
Mowbray  to  bring  her  to  Holwick  Hall.  So  she  always 
found  plenty  of  heavy  work  for  the  child  to  do  and  often 
made  excuses  when  Audry  had  some  dainty  or  extra 
pleasure  as  to  why  Aline  should  not  have  her  share. 
Aline  thought  of  her  father,  Captain  Angus  Gillespie  of 
Logan,  and  remembered  his  infinite  care  for  her  when 
she  had  been  the  apple  of  his  eye.  It  had  been  a  sad 
little  life; — first  she  had  been  motherless  from  infancy 
and  then  had  followed  the  long  financial  difficulties  that 
she  did  not  understand ;  but  one  thing  after  another  had 
gone;  and  just  before  her  father  died  they  had  had  to 
leave  Logan  Tower  and  go  and  live  in  Edinburgh ;  and 
the  little  estate  was  sold. 

Audry  in  her  rough,  kindly  way,  flung  her  arms  round 
the  slim  form  and  kissed  her.  "Do  not  think  melan- 
choly things ;  come  along  to  the  library  and  see  what  we 
can  find."  So  they  left  the  solar  and  went  down 


14  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

through  the  hall  and  out  into  the  upper  court.  They 
raced  across  the  court,  because  of  the  rain,  and  up  the 
little  flight  of  nine  steps,  three  at  a  time,  till  they  were 
on  the  narrow  terrace  that  ran  along  the  front  of  the 
library. 

Aline  reached  the  door  first,  and,  as  she  swung  back 
the  heavy  oak  with  its  finely  carved  panels,  exclaimed: 
"There,  I  told  you  I  could  run." 

They  shut  the  door  and  walked  down  the  broad  central 
space.  The.  library  had  been  built  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury by  Master  James  Mowbray,  Audry's  great-great- 
grandfather, and  was  supposed  to  be  the  finest  in  the 
North  of  England.  It  was  divided  on  each  side  into  little 
alcoves,  each  lit  by  its  own  window  and  most  of  the  books 
were  chained  to  their  places,  being  attached  to  a  long 
rod  that  ran  along  the  top  of  each  shelf.  At  the  end 
of  each  alcove  was  a  lock  with  beautifully  wrought  iron 
tracery  work  that  held  the  rod  so  that  it  could  not  be 
pulled  out.  The  library  was  very  dusty  and  was  prac- 
tically never,  used,  as  the  present  lord  of  Holwick  was  not 
a  scholar;  so  for  the  last  four  years  since  he  had  suc- 
ceeded to  the  estate  it  had  been  neglected  and  Aline  was 
almost  the  only  person  who  ever  entered  it. 

The  children  walked  down  the  room  admiring  the  deli- 
cate iron  work  of  the  locks,  for  which  Aline  had  a  great 
fancy  and  she  had  paused  at  one,  which  was  her  par- 
ticular favourite,  and  was  fingering  every  part  of  it 
affectionately,  when  she  noticed  that  a  small  sculptured 
figure  was  loose  and  could  be  made  to  slide  upwards. 
This  excited  her  curiosity  and  she  pushed  it  to  and  fro 
to  see  if  it  was  for  any  special  purpose,  till  suddenly 
she  discovered  that,  when  the  figure  was  pushed  as  high 


SECRETS  15 

as  it  would  go,  the  whole  lock  could  be  pulled  forward 
like  a  little  door  on  a  hinge,  revealing  a  small  cavity 
behind.  Both  children  started  and  peered  eagerly  into 
the  space  disclosed,  where  they  found  a  very  thin  little 
leather  book  which  was  dropping  to  pieces  with  old  age. 
They  took  it  out  and  examined  it  and  found  that  the 
cover  had  separated  so  as  to  lay  open  what  had  been  a 
secret  pocket  in  the  cover,  which  contained  a  piece  of 
stout  parchment  the  same  size  as  the  pages  of  the  book. 

The  book  was  written  in  black  letter  and  was  in  Latin. 
"Now  you  see  the  use  of  knowing  Latin,"  said  Aline 
triumphantly,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  dark  blue  eyes. 

"That  depends  whether  it  is  interesting,"  Audry 
replied. 

' '  It  seems  to  be  an  account  of  the  building  of  Holwick 
Hall ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  this  curious  piece  of  parch- 
ment with  all  these  holes  cut  in  it  ? " 

' '  Perhaps  you  can  find  out  if  you  read  the  book, ' '  sug- 
gested Audry.  "It  certainly  must  be  of  some  impor- 
tance or  they  would  not  have  taken  all  that  trouble  to 
hide  the  book  and  also  the  parchment  in  the  book.  Let 
us  sit  down  and  see  what  you  can  make  of  it. ' ' 

So  they  sat  down  and  Aline  was  soon  deeply  interested 
in  the  account  of  the  building,  how  the  great  dining  hall 
was  erected  first,  then  the  buttery,  pantry  and  kitchen 
and  afterwards  the  beautiful  solar.  Audry  found  her 
interest  flag;  although,  when  it  came  to  the  building  of 
her  room  and  the  cost  of  the  different  items,  she  bright- 
ened up.  "Still,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  see  why  all  this 
should  be  kept  so  secret;  any  one  might  know  all  that 
we  have  read. ' ' 

There  was  one  thing  that  seemed  to  promise  interest, 


16  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

but  apparently  it  led  to  nothing.  At  the  beginning  of 
the  book  was  a  dedication  which  could  be  translated 
thus:  "To  my  heirs  trusting  that  this  may  serve  them 
as  it  has  served  me."  But  in  what  way  it  was  to  serve 
them  did  not  appear,  and  the  evening  was  closing  in  and 
it  was  getting  dark,  but  the  children  were  as  far  as  ever 
from  discovering  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  or  of  the 
parchment  with  the  holes. 

"Let  us  take  it  to  our  room,"  Aline  said  at  last;  "it 
is  not  chained  like  the  others.  "We  can  hide  it  in  the 
armoire  and  read  with  the  little  lamp  when  the  others 
have  gone  to  sleep  and  no  one  is  likely  to  come  in. ' ' 

So  they  put  the  piece  of  parchment  to  mark  the  place, 
ran  to  their  room  and  hid  the  book  and  went  to  join  the 
rest  of  the  family. 

It  was  nearly  time  for  rere-supper*  and  Master 
Richard  Mowbray  had  just  come  in.  He  was  dripping 
wet  and  the  water  ran  down  in  long  streams  across  the 
floor.  "Gramercy,"  he  exclaimed,  "it  is  not  a  fit  day 
for  a  dog  let  alone  a  horse  or  a  man.  Come  and  pull 
off  my  boots,  wench,"  he  went  on,  catching  sight  of 
Aline. 

He  sat  down  and  Aline  with  her  little  white  hands 
manfully  struggled  with  the  great  boots.  "You  are  not 
much  good  at  it,"  he  said  roughly,  when  at  last  she  suc- 
ceeded in  tugging  off  the  first  one.  "Ah,  well,  never 
mind,"  he  added,  when  he  saw  her  wince  at  his  words, 
and  stooped  and  kissed  her  and  called  to  one  of  the  men 
to  come  and  take  off  the  other  boot.  "You  cannot  al- 
ways live  on  a  silk  cushion,  lassie,"  he  went  on,  not  un- 
kindly, "you  must  work  like  the  rest  of  us." 

*  A  meal  taken  about  8  o'clock. 


SECRETS  17 

"It  is  a  strange  thing  where  that  man  can  have  got," 
he  continued;  "in  all  this  rain  it  is  impossible  that  he 
can  have  gone  far." 

"Let  us  hope  he  is  drowned,"  Mistress  Mowbray  re- 
marked ;  ' '  that  would  save  us  further  trouble,  but  it  is  a 
pity  that  a  man  meant  for  the  fire  should  finish  in  the 
water. ' ' 

"Some  of  the  folk  going  to  Middleton  say  that  they 
saw  a  stranger  early  this  morning,  playing  with  a  child, 
but  he  turned  off  toward  the  hills,"  one  of  the  serving 
men  observed. 

"That's  he,  but  it's  hard  enough  to  find  a  man  in  a 
bog-hole,  particularly  on  a  day  like  this,  yet  Silas  Morgan 
and  William  Nettleship  have  both  taken  over  a  score  of 
men  and  there  must  easily  be  two  score  of  others  on  the 
hills;  you  would  think  that  they  would  find  him.  He 
cannot  know  the  hills  as  we  do,"  said  Master  Mowbray. 

There  was  silence  for  a  time  and  then  he  spoke  again, 
— "Of  course  those  people  might  be  mistaken;  but  he 
could  not  get  over  Middleton  Bridge  after  the  watch  was 
set,  and  I  do  not  see  how  any  one  could  get  over  the  river 
to-day,  it  is  simply  a  boiling  torrent.  Well,  they  are  on 
the  look  out  on  the  Appleby  side  and  he  must  come  down 
somewhere." 

"What  is  he  wanted  for?"  Audry  ventured  to  ask. 

"Wanted  for?"  almost  shrieked  Mistress  Mowbray, 
"a  heretic  blaspheming  Mother  Church,  whom  the  good 
priest  said  was  a  servant  of  the  devil. ' ' 

"But  what  is  a  heretic  and  how  does  he  blaspheme 
Mother  Church?"  Audry  persisted. 

"I  do  not  know  and  I  do  not  want  to  know,"  said 
Mistress  Mowbray. 


18  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

' '  Then  if  you  do  not  know,  how  can  you  tell  that  it  is 
wrong?  You  must  know  what  he  says,  Mother,  before 
you  can  judge  him." 

"I  was  brought  up  a  good  daughter  of  the  church, 
and  I  know  when  I  am  right,  and  look  here,  you  young 
hussie,  what  do  you  mean  by  talking  to  your  mother  like 
that?  It's  that  good  for  nothing  baggage,  that  your 
father  has  brought  from  Scotland,  that  has  been  putting 
these  notions  into  your  head,  with  her  book  learning  and 
nonsense.  I  assure  you  that  I  won't  have  any  more  of 
it,  you  little  skelpie,*  you  are  not  too  old  for  a  good 
beating  yet,  and  I  tell  you  what; — I  will  not  have  the 
two  of  you  wasting  your  time  in  that  library,  I  shall  lock 
it  up,  and  you  are  not  to  go  in  there  without  permission, 
and  that  will  not  be  yet  awhile,  I  can  promise  you. ' ' 

After  this  outburst  the  meal  was  eaten  in  silence  and 
every  one  felt  very  uncomfortable. 

When  supper  was  over  the  sky  seemed  to  show  signs 
of  breaking  and  Master  Mowbray  ventured  to  express  a 
hope  that  the  next  day  would  be  fine,  and  that  they 
would  be  able  to  find  the  heretic  on  the  hills.  "That 
man  has  done  more  mischief  than  any  of  the  others,"  he 
muttered;  but  when  pressed  to  explain  himself  he 
changed  the  subject  and  said  he  must  go  and  see  if  the 
water  had  done  any  damage  in  the  lower  court. 

The  children  were  not  sorry  to  retire  to  their  room 
when  bedtime  came.  They  had  undressed  and  Audry 
was  helping  Aline  to  brush  her  great  masses  of  long 
hair.  What  a  picture  she  looked  in  her  little  white 
night-robe,  with  her  large  mysterious  dark  blue  eyes 
that  no  one  ever  saw  without  being  stirred,  and  her  won- 

*A  girl  young  enough  to  be  whipped  (skelped). 


SECRETS  19 

derful  charm  of  figure!  Her  colouring  was  as  remark- 
able as  her  form.  The  hair  was  of  a  deep  dark  red,  some- 
what of  the  colour  beloved  by  Titian,  but  with  more  gloss 
and  glow  although  a  little  lower  in  tone;  that  colour 
which  one  meets  perhaps  once  in  a  lifetime,  a  full  rich 
undoubted  red,  but  without  a  suspicion  of  the  gar- 
ishness  and  harshness  that  belongs  to  most  red  hair. 
The  eyes  were  of  the  dark  ultramarine  blue  only  found 
among  the  Keltic  peoples  and  even  then  but  rarely,  like 
the  darkest  blue  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  when  the 
sapphire  hue  is  touched  with  a  hint  of  purple. 

"What  is  a  heretic?"  Audry  asked;  "I  am  sure  you 
know. ' ' 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  do,  but  I  remember  father  say- 
ing something  to  me  about  it  before  he  died.  He  said 
that  they  were  people  who  were  not  satisfied  with  the  way 
that  things  were  going  in  the  church  and  that  in  particu- 
lar they  denied  that  it  was  only  through  the  priests  of 
the  church  that  God  spoke  to  his  people.  They  say  that 
the  priests  are  no  better  than  any  one  else  and  indeed 
are  sometimes  even  worse." 

' '  I  do  not  know  that  they  claim  to  be  better  than  other 
people,"  objected  Audry. 

"Well,  dear,  I  am  not  defending  the  heretics.  I  only 
say  what  they  think.  They  do  feel,  however,  that  if  the 
priests  really  were  the  special  channels  of  God  that  that 
fact  itself  would  make  them  better.  So,  many  of  them 
say  that  God  can  and  does  speak  directly  to  all  of  us  him- 
self, and  they  all  think  that  it  is  in  the  Bible  that  we  can 
best  learn  what  he  desires,  and  that  the  Bible  should 
therefore  be  translated  into  the  language  of  the  people. 

"  'This  has  been  the  cause  of  great  troubles  in  the 


20  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

world  for  these  many  years,'  father  said,  'but,  little 
maid,  do  not  trouble  your  head  about  it  now ;  when  you 
are  older  we  can  talk  about  it.'  ' 

"Are  the  heretics  such  very  wicked  people  then,  do 
you  think,  Aline?" 

Aline  put  her  little  white  hand  to  her  chin  and  looked 
down.  "I  do  not  know  what  to  think  about  it,"  she 
said.  "I  suppose  that  they  are,  but  they  do  not  seem 
to  be  treated  fairly." 

' '  I  hate  unfairness, ' '  said  Audry  in  her  impulsive  way. 

' '  I  do  not  see  why  they  should  not  be  allowed  to  speak 
for  themselves,  and  I  do  not  see  how  people  can  condemn 
them  when  they  do  not  know  what  their  reasons  are  for 
thinking  what  they  do.  Of  course  I  am  very  young  and 
do  not  know  anything  about  it ;  but  it  sounds  as  though 
the  priests  were  afraid  that  the  truth  can  not  take  care 
of  itself ;  but  surely  it  cannot  be  the  truth  if  it  is  afraid 
to  hear  the  other  side.  I  remember  a  motto  on  the  chim- 
ney piece  at  home, — 'Magna  veritas  est  et  prevalebit,' 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  it  must  be  so.  I  wish  that  father 
were  alive  to  talk  to  me.  He  was  so  clever  and  he  un- 
derstood things." 

"But  you  have  not  said  what  your  motto  means,"  Au- 
dry interposed. 

Aline  laughed  through  the  tears  that  were  beginning 
to  gather, — ' '  Oh,  that  means,  The  truth  is  great  and  will 
prevail.  If  it  is  the  truth  it  must  win ;  and  it  can  do  it 
no  harm  to  have  objections  raised  against  it,  as  it  will 
only  make  their  error  more  clear. ' ' 

"What  about  the  book,  Aline?"  said  Audry,  changing 
the  subject;  "no  one  is  likely  to  come  up  here  now,  they 
never  do ;  so  I  think  we  could  have  another  look  at  it. ' ' 


SECRETS  21 

Aline  picked  up  the  book  and  opened  it;  she  paused 
for  a  moment  and  then  gave  a  little  cry, — ' '  I  have  found 
out  what  the  parchment  is  for;  come  and  look  here." 

Audry  came  and  looked.  "I  do  not  see  anything," 
she  said. 

"Look  at  the  parchment;  do  you  not  see  one  or  two 
letters  showing  through  nearly  all  the  little  holes?" 

"Yes." 

"What  are  they?" 

"b.  u.  t.  o.  n.  e.  m.  u.  s.  t.  s.  e.  e.  t.  h.  a.  t.  a.  1.  i.  g.  h.  t. 
i.  s.  n.  e.  v.  e.  r.  c.  a.  r.  r.  i.  e.  d.  i.  n.  f .  r.  o.  n.  t.  o.  f .  t.  h.  e. 
s.  1.  i.  t.  s.  i.  n.  t.  h.  e.,"  read  Audry,  a  letter  at  a  time. 

"And  what  does  that  spell?"  said  Aline. 

' '  Oh,  I  see,—  It  spells,  '  but  one  must  see  that  a  light 
is  never  carried  in  front  of  the  slits  in  the. '  How  clever 
of  you  to  find  it  out!" 

"Well,  it  was  more  or  less  accident;  the  parchment  is 
exactly  the  size  of  the  paper  and  as  I  shut  the  book 
I  naturally  made  it  all  even.  So,  when  I  opened  it  in 
this  room,  it  was  lying  even  on  the  page  and  I  could  not 
help  seeing  the  letters  and  what  they  spelt. ' ' 

' '  I  should  never  have  noticed  it,  Aline ;  why  I  did  not 
even  notice  at  once  that  the  letters  spelt  anything  after 
you  had  shown  me." 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  beginning  and  then,"  said 
Aline,  "we  shall  discover  what  it  is  all  about." 

So  she  turned  to  the  beginning  of  the  book  and  placed 
the  parchment  over  the  page  and  found  that  it  began 
like  this; — "Having  regard  to  the  changes  and  misfor- 
tunes of  this  life  and  the  dangers  that  we  may  incur,  I 
have  provided  for  myself  and  my  heirs  a  place  of  refuge 
and  a  way  of  escape  in  the  evil  day.  This  book  contain- 


22  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

eth  a  full  account  of  the  building  of  Holwick  Hall;  so 
that  it  will  be  easily  possible  to  follow  that  which  I  now 
set  down.  Below  the  Library  on  the  west  side  of  the 
house  just  above  the  level  of  the  moat,  there  is  a  secret 
chamber,  which  communicateth  with  a  passage  below  the 
moat  that  hath  an  exit  in  the  roof  of  the  small  cave  in 
the  gully  that  lieth  some  two  hundred  paces  westward 
of  the  Hall  of  Holwick.  The  way  of  entrance  thereto  is 
threefold.  There  is  an  entrance  from  the  library  itself. 
There  is  also  an  entrance  from  the  small  Chamber  that 
occupieth  the  southwest  corner  of  the  building  on  the 
topmost  floor." 

"Why,  that  is  our  bedroom,  the  room  that  we  are  in 
now!"  Audry  exclaimed.  "Do  let  us  try  and  find  it." 

"Wait  a  moment;  the  book  will  probably  tell  us  all 
about  it, ' '  and  Aline  resumed  her  reading. 

' '  '  There  is  a  third  method  of  approach  from  the  store- 
chamber  or  closet  on  the  ground  floor  in  the  southeast 
corner  of  the  lower  quadrangle.'  ! 

"That  is  the  treasury,  where  the  silver  and  the  other 
plate  is  kept,"  said  Audry;  "go  on." 

"  'In  the  corner  of  the  library  that  goeth  round  be- 
hind the  newel  stair  there  is  a  great  oaken  coffer  that  is 
fastened  to  the  floor,  in  the  which  are  the  charters  and 
the  license  to  crenellate  *  and  sundry  other  parch- 
ments.' " 

"Oh,  I  have  often  wondered  what  was  in  that  kist, " 
said  Audry;  "how  really  exciting  things  have  become  at 
last,  but  I  want  to  find  out  the  way  to  get  down  from  our 
room;  do  go  on." 

*  To  make  battlements  or  crenellations.  A  house  could  not  be 
fortified  without  a  royal  license. 


SECRETS 


23 


"You  must  not  keep  interrupting  then,"  said  Aline 
and  continued  her  reading.  "  'Now  the  bottom  of  this 
kist  can  be  lifted  for  half  its  breadth,  if  the  nail  head 
with  the  largest  rosette  below  the  central  hinge  be  drawn 
forth.  After  so  doing,  the  outer  edge  of  the  plank  next 
the  wall  in  the  bottom  of  the  chest  can  be  pushed  down 
slightly,  which  will  cause  the  inner  edge  to  rise  a  little. 
This  can  then  be  taken  by  the  hand  and  lifted.  In  ex- 


actly  the  same  manner  the  plank  of  the  floor  immediately 
underneath  can  be  raised.' 

' '  I  hope  you  understand  it  all, ' '  Aline  remarked. 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  do,"  said  Audry.  "Yes, 
I  think  it  is  quite  clear;  it's  very  like  the  way  the  lid 
works  on  the  old  sword-kist. ' ' 

"But  we  cannot  get  into  the  library  and,  even  if  we 
could,"  said  Audry,  "the  kist  might  be  locked." 


24  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Never  mind  that  now;  I  expect  that  our  room  will 
come  next,"  said  Aline.  "Yes,  listen  to  this: — 'In  the 
topmost  chamber  a  different  device  is  adopted  for  greater 
safety  by  means  of  variety.  If  the  ambry  *  nigh  unto 
the  door  be  opened  it  will  be  found  that  the  shelf  will 
pull  forward  an  inch  and  a  finger  can  be  inserted  behind 
it  on  the  left  hand  side,  and  a  small  lever  can  be  pushed 
backward.  This  enables  the  third  plank  near  the  newel- 
stair  t  wall  to  be  lifted  by  pressing  down  the  western 
end  thereof,  and  a  bolt  may  be  found  which,  being  with- 
drawn, one  of  the  panels  will  fall  somewhat  and  may  be 
pushed  right  down  by  the  hand.  The  newel-stair, 
though  it  appeareth  not,  is  double  and  one  may  creep 
down  thereby  to  the  chamber  itself.'  ! 

The  fact  was, — that  what  appeared  to  be  simply  the 
under  side  of  the  steps,  to  any  one  going  up  the  stair- 
case, was  really  a  second  staircase,  leaving  a  space  of 
nearly  three  feet  between  the  two. 

The  children  did  not  read  further  at  that  time,  as 
they  were  eager  at  once  to  see  if  they  could  put  their 
discovery  to  the  test. 

Aline  put  down  the  book  and  went  to  the  ambry  and 
opened  the  door.  The  single  shelf  came  forward  with- 
out difficulty.  "Have  you  found  anything?"  Audry 
asked  eagerly. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "but  I  cannot  move  it;  it  is  too 
stiff." 

"Let  me  have  a  try,"  and  Audry  stepped  forward 
and  put  her  fingers  into  the  space.  "My  hands  are 

*  A  small  cupboard  made  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall, 
t  A  newel  staircase  is  a   spiral   staircase  circling  round   the 
newel,  i.e.,  the  centre  shaft  or  post. 


SECRETS 


25 


stronger  than  yours,"  she  said.  "Ah,  that  is  it!"  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  felt  the  lever  move  to  one  side,  and  by 
working  it  backwards 
and  forwards  she  soon 
made  it  quite  loose. 

Aline  meanwhile  had 
already  put  her  little 
foot  on  the  third 
board,  at  the  end  just 
against  the  wall,  and 
felt*  it  yield.  The 
other  end  was  now  suf- 
ficiently raised  to  allow 
of  the  fingers  being 
passed  underneath. 
She  lifted  it  up  and 
found  that  it  was  sim- 
ply attached  to  a  bar 
about  six  inches  from 
the  wall-end.  They 
both  peeped  into  the 
opening  disclosed  and 
felt  round  it.  Aline 


The  Moving  Plank  and  the  Way  to 
the  Secret  Room. 


was  the  first  to  find  the  bolt  and  pulled  it  forward.  But 
alas  no  panel  moved.  Audry  looked  ready  to  weep, 
but  Aline  exclaimed,  ' '  Oh,  it  must  be  all  right  as  we  have 
got  so  far ;  let  us  feel  the  panels  and  try  and  force  them 
down.  This  is  the  one  above  the  bolt, ' '  and  she  put  her 
fingers  on  it  to  try  and  make  it  slide  down.  She  had 
no  sooner  spoken  than  the  panel  moved  an  inch  and, 
slipping  her  hand  inside,  she  pressed  it  down  to  the  bot- 
tom. The  panel  tended  to  rise  again  when  she  let  go, 


26  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

as  the  bottom  rested  on  the  arm  of  a  weighted  lever. 
It  looked  very  gloomy  inside  but  the  children  were  de- 
termined to  go  on.  They  then  found  that  there  was  just 
comfortable  room  for  them  to  go  backwards  down  the 
stairs  and  that  there  would  have  been  room  even  for  a 
big  man  to  manage  it  without  much  difficulty.  There 
were  many  cobwebs  and  once  or  twice  their  light  threat- 
ened to  go  out;  but  at  last  they  reached  the  bottom, 
crawling  on  hands  and  knees  the  whole  way.  There 
they  found  a  long  narrow  passage,  in  the  thickness  of  the 
wall,  of  immense  length.  They  went  along  this  for  a 
great  distance  and  then  began  to  get  frightened. 

''Where  ever  can  we  have  got  to?"  Audry  said  at 
length. 

"It  is  quite  clear  that  we  are  wrong,"  said  Aline, 
"as  the  library,  we  know,  is  just  at  the  bottom  of  the 
newel-stair  and  the  book  said  that  the  secret  room  was 
just  underneath  the  library.  We  must  go  back." 

"What  if  we  go  wrong  again  and  lose  our  way  alto- 
gether, Aline,  and  never  get  out  of  this  horrible  place?" 

It  was  a  terrible  thought;  and  the  damp  smell  and 
forbidding  looking  narrow  stone  passage  had  a  strange 
effect  on  the  children's  nerves.  Then  another  thought 
occurred  to  Aline  that  made  them  still  more  nervous. 
There  were  occasional  slits  along  the  wall  for  ventilation 
and  she  remembered  the  words  that  she  had  read  by 
chance  when  she  first  discovered  the  use  of  the  parch- 
ment. Supposing  that  their  light  should  be  seen ;  what 
would  happen  to  them  then?  and  yet  they  dare  not  put 
it  out  and  be  left  in  the  dark. 

' '  I  wish  that  we  had  never  come, ' '  said  Audry  as  they 
hurried  along  the  difficult  passage.  They  reached  the 


SECRETS  27 

bottom  of  the  stair  and  felt  a  little  reassured.  They 
then  saw  that  the  passage  turned  sharply  back  on  itself 
and  led  in  a  step  or  two  to  a  door.  It  was  of  very  stout 
oak  and  plated  with  iron.  They  opened  it  and  found 
that  it  had  eight  great  iron  bolts  that  could  be  shut  on 
that  side.  Within  was  a  second  door  equally  strong 
and,  on  opening  that,  they  found  themselves  in  the  secret 
room  itself.  It  was  a  long  apartment  only  about  eight 
feet  high,  and  was  panelled  throughout  with  oak.  There 
was  a  large  and  beautiful  stone  fireplace,  above  which 
was  the  inscription, — "Let  there  be  no  fire  herein  save 
that  the  fires  above  be  lit." 

"That  must  be  in  case  the  smoke  should  show,"  said 
Aline;  "how  careful  they  have  been  with  every  little 
thing!" 

The  room  was  thick  with  dust  and  obviously  had  not 
been  entered  for  many  many  years.  Even  if  the 
present  occupants  of  Holwick  knew  of  the  secret  room 
at  all,  which  probably  they  did  not,  it  was  clear  that  they 
never  made  any  use  of  their  knowledge.  There  was  a 
magnificent  old  oak  bed  in  one  corner  but  some  of  the 
bedding  was  moth-eaten  and  destroyed.  There  were 
also  many  little  conveniences  in  the  room,  amongst  other 
things  a  small  book-case  containing  several  books.  On 
the  whole  it  was  a  distinctly  pleasant  apartment  despite 
the  absence  of  any  visible  windows.  There  were  even 
one  or  two  pictures  on  the  walls.  In  one  corner  on  the 
outer  wall  was  a  door,  which  the  children  opened,  and 
which  clearly  led  to  the  underground  passage  below  the 
moat;  but  they  decided  not  to  examine  any  more  that 
night.  So  they  made  their  way  up  the  stairs  again  back 
to  their  room. 


28  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

They  were  almost  too  excited  to  sleep  and  Aline,  as 
her  custom  was,  when  she  lay  awake,  amused  herself 
by  building  castles  in  the  air.  Sometimes  she  would 
imagine  herself  as  a  great  lady,  sought  after  by  all  the 
noble  knights  of  the  land,  but  holding  herself  aloof  with 
reserved  dignity  until  one,  by  some  deed  of  unusual 
distinction,  should  win  her  favour.  As  a  rule,  however, 
this  seemed  rather  a  dull  part  to  play,  though  there  was 
something  naturally  queenly  in  her  nature,  and  she 
would  therefore  prefer  something  more  active.  She 
would  take  the  old  Scots  romance  of  Burd  Helen,  or 
Burd  Aline,  as  her  own  inspiration,  and  follow  her 
knight  in  the  disguise  of  a  page  over  mountain  and 
torrent  and  through  every  hardship.  This  better  suited 
the  romantic  self-sacrifice  of  her  usual  moods  and,  by 
its  imaginary  deeds  of  heroism,  ministered  just  as  much 
to  her  sense  of  exaltation.  To-night  had  opened  vistas 
of  new  suggestion ;  and  she  pictured  her  knight  and  her- 
self fleeing  before  a  host  of  enemies  and  miraculously 
disappearing  at  the  critical  moment  into  the  secret  room. 
But  at  last  she  fell  into  a  sound  slumber  and  did  not 
wake  till  it  was  nearly  time  for  the  morning  meal. 


CHAPTER  III 

HATE  AND   LOVE 

ALINE  certainly  did  not  belong  to  any  ordinary 
type  and  she  would  have  puzzled  the  psychol- 
ogist to  classify.  She  was  so  many  sided  as  to 
be  in  a  class  by  herself.  She  had  plenty  of  common 
sense  and  intelligence  for  her  years  and  an  outlook 
essentially  fair  minded  and  just.  But  she  also  had  a 
quiet  hauteur,  curiously  coupled  with  humility,  and  at 
the  same  time  a  winning  manner  that  was  irresistible; 
so  that  the  strange  thing  was  that  she  had  only  to  ask 
and  most  people  voluntarily  submitted  to  her  desires. 
This  unusual  power  might  have  been  very  dangerous 
to  her  character  and  spoiled  her,  had  it  not  been  that 
what  she  wanted  wras  almost  always  just  and  reason- 
able and  moreover  she  never  used  her  power  for  her 
own  benefit.  Further,  her  humble  estimate  of  her  own 
capacity  for  judgment  caused  her  but  rarely  to  exercise 
the  power  at  all.  In  practice  it  was  almost  confined 
to  those  cases  where  a  sweet  minded  child's  natural  in- 
stinct for  fair  play  sees  further  than  the  sophistries  of 
the  adult. 

She  was  practically  unaware  of  this  power,  which 
was  destined  to  bring  her  into  conflict  with  Eleanor 
Mowbray ;  nor  did  she  take  the  least  delight,  as  she  might 
easily  have  done,  in  exercising  power  for  power's  sake. 

29 


30  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Eleanor  Mowbray,  on  the  other  hand,  like  so  many 
women,  loved  power.  Masculine  force  has  so  largely 
monopolised  the  more  obvious  manifestations  of  power 
that  it  might  be  said  to  be  almost  a  feminine  instinct  to 
snatch  at  all  opportunities  that  offer  themselves. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Mistress  Mowbray  loved  to  use 
power  for  the  sake  of  using  it;  she  loved  to  make  her 
household  realise  that  she  was  mistress.  She  did  not 
exactly  mean  to  be  unkind,  but  they  were  servants  and 
they  must  feel  that  they  were  servants.  Her  attitude 
to  them  was  that  of  the  servant  who  has  risen  or  the 
one  so  commonly  exhibited  toward  servants  by  small 
girls,  that  puzzles  and  disgusts  their  small  brothers. 

She  would  address  them  contemptuously,  or  would 
impatiently  lose  her  self-control  and  shout  at  them. 
She  lacked  consideration  and  would  call  them  from  their 
main  duties  to  perform  petty  services,  which  she  could 
perfectly  well  have  done  for  herself.  This  was  irri- 
tating to  the  servants  and  there  was  always  a  good  deal 
of  friction.  The  servants  tended  to  lose  their  loyalty 
and,  when  once  the  bond  of  common  interest  was  broken, 
what  did  it  matter  to  Martha,  the  laundry-maid,  that 
she  one  day  scorched  and  destroyed  the  most  cherished 
and  valuable  piece  of  lace  that  Mistress  Mowbray  pos- 
sessed; or  of  what  concern  was  it  to  Edward,  the 
seneschal,  that  in  cleaning  the  plate,  he  broke  the  lid 
off  her  pouncet  box  and  not  only  did  not  trouble  to  tell 
her,  but  when  charged  with  it,  coolly  remarked,  after 
the  manner  of  his  kind, — "Oh,  it  came  to  pieces  in  my 
hands!" 

On  one  occasion,  before  the  discovery  of  the  secret 
room,  when  Edward  was  away,  Thomas,  a  sly  unprin- 


HATE  AND  LOVE  31 

cipled  man,  whose  duties  were  with  the  horses,  had 
taken  his  place  for  the  day.  The  four  silver  goblets, 
which  he  had  placed  on  the  table,  were  all  of  them  tar- 
nished; and  after  the  meal  was  over,  Mistress  Mowbray 
said  to  him  sharply, — "Thomas,  what  do  you  mean  by 
putting  dirty  goblets  on  the  high  table  ? "  * 

"I  am  sure  I  did  my  best,  Mistress,"  said  Thomas; 
"I  spent  a  great  amount  of  pains  in  laying  the  table, 
but  we  all  of  us  make  mistakes  sometimes." 

"Then  go  and  clean  them  at  once,  you  scullion,  and 
bring  them  back  to  me  to  look  at  directly  you  have 
finished. ' ' 

"Please,  Mistress,  that  is  not  my  work,"  replied 
Thomas,  "and  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do  in  the  stables 
this  afternoon."  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  finished 
his  work  in  the  stables  and  was  planning  for  an  easy 
time. 

' '  Do  you  dare  to  talk  to  me  ? ' '  she  said,  her  voice  ris- 
ing. ' '  You  are  here  to  do  as  you  are  told ;  go  and  clean 
them  at  once,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you."  She 
knew  that  this  time  the  man  was  within  his  rights;  but 
she  was  not  going  to  be  dictated  to  by  a  servant. 

Thomas  sulkily  departed.  When  he  reached  the  but- 
tery he  remembered  that  he  had  noticed  Edward  clean- 
ing some  of  the  goblets  the  day  before.  He  soon  found 
them,  and  then  drew  himself  a  measure  of  ale  and  sat 
down  with  a  chuckle  to  enjoy  himself  over  the  liquor, 
while  allowing  for  the  time  that  would  have  been  needed 
to  clean  the  silver. 

Meanwhile  Mistress  Mowbray  began  impatiently  to 

*  The  table  on  the  raised  dais  at  which  the  family  sat.  The 
retainers  sat  at  the  two  lower  tables.  See  plan. 


32  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

walk  up  and  down  the  hall.  The  children  were  gen- 
erally allowed  to  go  out  after  dinner  and  amuse  them- 
selves, but  it  was  a  wet  day  and  Aline  was  looking 
disconsolately  out  of  the  window  wondering  whether 
she  should  go  into  the  library  or  what  she  should  do, 
when  the  angry  dame  thought  that  the  child  offered 
an  object  for  the  further  exercise  of  her  power.  "Why 
are  you  idling  there?"  she  said.  "They  are  all  short- 
handed  to-day,  go  you  and  scour  out  the  sink  and  then 
take  out  the  pig-bucket  and  be  quick  about  it." 

Aline  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise,  but  ran  off  at 
once.  The  buttery  door  was  open  and  she  saw  Thomas 
drinking  and  offering  a  tankard  to  one  of  the  other 
servants,  and  she  heard  him  laugh  loudly  as  he  pointed 
to  a  row  of  goblets,  four  of  them  clean  and  the  rest  of 
them  dirty,  while  he  said, — ' '  Edward  cleaned  those,  and 
I  am  waiting  here  as  long  as  it  would  take  to  clean 
them."  He  caught  sight  of  her  and  scowled,  but  she 
passed  on. 

Aline  had  soon  finished  the  sink  and  ran  quickly 
with  the  pig-bucket,  after  which  she  returned  to  the 
dining  hall  to  tell  Mistress  Mowbray  she  had  finished. 
Thomas  had  just  come  in,  so  she  stood  and  waited. 

He  held  up  the  four  goblets  on  a  tray  for  Mistress 
Mowbray  to  inspect. 

"Yes,  those  are  better,  Thomas,"  she  said  frigidly. 
Thomas  could  not  conceal  a  faint  smile  and  the  lady 
became  suspicious.  "By  the  way,  Thomas,  there  are 
a  dozen  of  these  goblets,  bring  me  the  others." 

"Yes,  Mistress,"  said  Thomas,  triumphantly,  "but 
they  were  all  dirty  and  I  have  just  cleaned  these." 

Mistress  Mowbray  saw  that  she  could  not  catch  him 


HATE  AND  LOVE  33 

that  way,  but  felt  that  the  man  was  somehow  getting 
the  better  of  her,  so  she  merely  replied  calmly, — "Then 
you  can  clean  the  whole  set,  Thomas,  and  bring  me  the 
dozen  to  look  at." 

Aline  nearly  burst  into  a  laugh,  but  put  her  hand 
to  her  mouth  and  smothered  it  without  Mistress  Mow- 
bray  seeing;  but  Thomas  saw  and  as  he  departed,  crest- 
fallen, he  vowed  vengeance  in  his  heart. 

"Have  you  done  what  I  told  you,  child?"  Mistress 
Mowbray  said,  turning  to  Aline.  ''Marry,  but  I  trust 
you  have  done  it  well.  It  is  too  wet  for  you  to  go  out; 
you  can  start  carding  a  bag  of  wool  that  I  will  give  you. 
That  will  keep  you  busy." 

Aline  sighed,  as  she  had  hoped  to  get  into  the  library 
and  she  wondered  what  Audry  was  doing,  who  had  been 
shrewd  enough  to  get  away,  but  she  said  nothing  and 
turned  to  her  task. 

At  first  Eleanor  Mowbray's  treatment  of  Aline  was 
merely  the  joy  of  ordering  some  one  about,  of  com- 
pelling some  one  to  do  things  whether  they  liked  to 
or  not,  just  because  they  were  not  in  a  position  of  power 
to  say  no;  but  what  gave  her  a  secret  additional  joy 
was  that  Aline  was  a  lady  and  she  herself  was  not. 
True,  Aline 's  father  was  only  one  of  the  lesser  Lairds, 
but  he  was  a  gentleman  of  coat  armour,*  whereas  Elea- 
nor Mowbray  was  merely  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the 
wealthy  vintner  of  York.  It  caused  Eleanor  Mowbray 
great  satisfaction  to  have  the  power  to  compel  a  gentle- 
man's  daughter  to  serve  her  in  what  her  plebeian  mind 

*  A  gentleman  is  a  man  who  has  the  right  conferred  by  a 
royal  grant  to  his  ancestors  or  himself  of  bearing  a  coat  of  arms. 
It  is  not  as  high  a  rank  as  esquire  with  which  it  is  often  con- 
fused. 


34  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

considered  degrading  occupations.  It  was  for  this 
reason  therefore  that  Aline  was  set  to  scour  sinks,  scrub 
floors  and  empty  slops,  with  no  deliberate  attempt  to 
be  unkind,  but  simply  to  feed  the  love  of  power. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  so  long  as  the  tasks  remained 
within  her  physical  strength,  Aline  was  too  much  of 
a  lady  to  mind  and,  if  need  had  been,  would  have  cleaned 
out  a  stable,  a  pigsty  or  a  sewer  itself,  with  grace  and 
dignity  and  even  have  lent  distinction  to  such  occu- 
pations. 

But  these  very  qualities  led  to  further  antagonism 
on  Eleanor  Mowbray's  part.  They  were  part  of  that 
power  of  the  true  lady  that  in  Aline  was  developed  to 
an  almost  superhuman  faculty  and  which  went  entirely 
beyond  any  power  of  which  Mistress  Mowbray  even 
dreamed  and  yet  without  the  child  making  any  effort 
to  get  it.  Aline  herself  indeed  was  unconscious  of  her 
strength  as  anything  exceptional.  She  had  been 
brought  up  by  her  father,  practically  alone  and  had  not 
as  yet  come  to  realise  how  different  she  was  from  other 
children. 

It  was  the  morning  after  the  discovery  of  the  secret 
room  that  Mistress  Mowbray  had  the  first  indication 
that  Aline  had  a  power  that  might  rival  her  own.  It 
was  a  small  incident,  but  it  sank  deeply  and  Eleanor 
Mowbray  did  not  forget  it. 

She  was  expecting  a  number  of  guests  to  dinner  and 
it  looked  as  though  nothing  would  be  ready  in  time. 
She  rushed  to  and  fro  from  the  hall  to  the  kitchen  up- 
braiding the  servants  and  talking  in  a  loud  and  dom- 
ineering tone.  But  the  servants,  who  were  working  as 
hard  as  the  average  of  their  class,  became  sullen  and 


HATE  AND  LOVE  35 

went  about  their  labours  with  less  rather  than  more 
effort. 

Eleanor  Mowbray  was  furious  and  finding  Aline  still 
at  her  spinning  wheel,  where  she  herself  had  put  her, 
"  'Sdeath  child,"  she  exclaimed,  "this  is  no  time  for 
spinning,  what  possesses  you?  I  cannot  get  those  var- 
lets  to  work,  everything  is  in  confusion, — knaves! — 
hussies! — go  you  to  the  kitchen  and  lend  a  hand  and 
that  right  speedily." 

Aline  felt  sorry  for  her  hostess,  who  certainly  was 
like  enough  to  have  her  entertainment  spoilt.  She  had 
already  noticed  that  the  servants  in  the  hall  were  very 
half-hearted,  so  she  said,  "I  will  do  what  I  can,  Mis- 
tress Mowbray,  perhaps  I  might  help  to  get  them  to 
work. ' ' 

' '  You,  indeed, ' '  said  the  irate  lady,  ' '  ridiculous  child ! 
— but  go  along  and  assist  to  carry  the  dishes." 

Aline  rose  and  passed  into  the  screens  and  down  the 
central  passage  to  the  kitchen.  The  place  was  filled 
with  loud  grumbling,  almost  to  the  verge  of  mutiny. 

As  the  queenly  little  figure  stood  in  the  doorway,  the 
servants  nudged  each  other  and  the  voices  straightway 
subsided. 

"Hush,  she  will  be  telling  tales,"  said  one  of  the 
maids  quietly. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Elspeth,  Audry's  old  nurse,  who 
was  assisting,  "surely  you  know  the  child  better  than 
that." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Aline  did  not  speak  and  a 
strange  feeling  of  shame  seemed  to  pervade  the  place. 

' '  Elspeth, ' '  said  Aline,  while  the  flicker  of  a  smile  be- 
trayed her,  "if  you  run  about  so,  you'll  wear  out  your 


36  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

shoon;  you  should  sit  on  the  table  and  swing  your  feet 
like  Joseph  there." 

"Now,  hinnie,  why  for  are  you  making  fun  of  an  old 
body?" 

"I  would  not  make  fun  of  you  for  anything,"  said 
Aline;  "but  look  at  his  shoon;  are  they  not  fine, — and 
his  beautiful  lily-white  hands?" 

"Look  as  if  you  never  did  a  day's  work,  Joe,"  said 
Silas,  the  reeve. 

' '  Oh,  no,  he  works  with  his  brain,  he 's  thinking, ' '  said 
Aline,  putting  her  hand  to  her  brow  with  mock  gravity. 
"He's  reckoning  up  his  fortune.  How  much  is  it,  Jo- 
seph?" 

"Methinks  his  fortune  will  all  be  reckonings,"  said 
Silas,  "for  he'll  never  get  any  other  kind." 

"Well,  we'll  change  the  subject;  there's  going  to  be 
a  funeral  here  to-night,"  Aline  observed. 

"No,  really?"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices. 

"Yes,  it's  a  terrible  story  and  it  really  ought  not  to 
be  known;  but  you'll  keep  it  secret  I  know,"  she  said, 
lowering  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

As  they  crowded  round  her  she  went  on  in  mysterious 
tones,  "You  know  John  Darley  and  Philip  Emberlin. " 

"Yes,"  said  Joe,  rousing  himself  to  take  in  the  situa- 
tion, "they  are  coming  here  to-night." 

"They've  a  long  way  to  come  and  they  are  not 
strong,"  said  Aline,  "and  they  will  arrive  hungry  and 
just  have  to  be  buried,  because  there  was  nothing  to  eat. 
Yes,  it's  a  sad  story;  I'm  not  surprised  to  see  the  tears 
in  your  eyes,  Joseph,  and,  in  fact,  in  a  manner  of  speak- 
ing you  might  say  that  you  will  have  killed  them,  you 
and  your  accomplices,"  she  added,  looking  round. 


HATE  AND  LOVE  37 

A  good  tempered  laugh  greeted  this  last  sally. 

"Marry,  we  have  much  to  get  through.  How  can  I 
help?  It  would  be  a  sorry  thing  that  Hoi  wick  should 
be  disgraced  before  its  guests.  Give  me  something  to 
do." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words,  but  the  tone  was 
one  of  dignity  combined  with  gentleness  and  sympathy. 

The  effect  was  peculiar; — no  one  felt  reproved,  but 
felt  rather  as  though  there  was  full  sympathy  with  his 
own  point  of  view;  yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  con- 
scious that  he  would  lose  his  own  dignity  if  he  became 
querulous  and  allowed  the  honour  of  the  house  to  suffer. 

Aline  helped  for  a  short  time  and  then,  leaving  them 
for  a  moment  all  cheerful  and  joking  but  working  with 
a  will,  she  looked  into  the  buttery,  where  she  saw  Thomas 
and  Edward,  the  seneschal,  a  pompous  but  good  hearted 
fellow,  merely  talking  and  doing  nothing. 

"You  are  not  setting  us  a  good  example,"  she  said 
laughing;  "everybody  else  is  working  so  hard,"  and  then 
she  added  in  a  tone  that  combined  something  of  jest, 
something  of  command  and  something  of  a  coaxing  qual- 
ity, ' '  do  try  to  keep  things  going ;  Master  Richard  would 
be  much  put  about  if  he  failed  in  his  hospitality." 

This  time  there  was  undoubtedly  a  very  gentle  sting 
in  the  tone  that  pricked  Edward's  vanity;  yet  his  own 
conscience  smote  him,  so  that  he  bore  no  ill  will. 

He  said  nothing,  however,  but  Thomas  remarked; — 
"Yes,  Mistress  Aline,  the  sin  of  idleness  is  apt  to  get 
hold  of  us,  we  must  to  our  work  as  you  say." 

Aline  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly,  the  ill-bred  vul- 
garity of  the  remark  was  too  much  for  her  sensitive 
nature.  Thomas  was  marked  by  that  lack  of  refinement 


38  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

that  cheapens  all  that  is  noble  and  good  by  ostentatious 
piety  and  sentimentality. 

Aline  gave  a  little  shiver  and  passed  on  to  do  the 
same  with  the  others.  She  also  took  her  full  share  in 
the  work,  so  that  in  fifteen  minutes  everything  was 
moving  smoothly.  It  was  done  entirely  out  of  kind- 
ness, but  Eleanor  Mowbray  felt  that  it  was  a  triumph 
at  her  expense  and  although  Aline  had  helped  her  out 
of  a  difficulty,  she  only  bore  a  grudge  against  her. 

Thomas  also  was  nettled.  Aline  had  got  the  better 
of  him;  he  suspected  her,  too,  of  seeing  through  his 
hypocrisy;  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  only 
partially  done,  as  she  was  so  completely  disgusted  at 
his  vulgarity  that  she  did  not  look  further. 

It  was  not  till  the  afternoon  that  the  children  had 
any  opportunity  to  pursue  their  own  devices  and  they 
decided,  as  the  day  was  fine  and  the  storm  had  cleared 
away,  that  they  would  go  down  to  the  river  near-by  and 
see  the  waterfall  before  the  water  had  had  time  greatly 
to  abate. 

They  did  not  go  straight  across  the  moor,  but  went 
by  way  of  the  small  hamlet  of  Holwick.  Everything 
looked  bright  and  green  after  the  rain,  varied  by  the 
grey  stone  walls,  that  ran  across  the  country,  separat- 
ing the  little  holdings.  The  distance  was  brilliantly 
blue  and  the  wide  spaciousness  that  characterises  the 
great  rolling  moorland  scenery  was  enhanced  by  the 
beauty  of  the  day. 

The  children  turned  into  the  second  cottage  which 
was  even  humbler  than  its  neighbours.  It  was  a  long, 
low,  thatched  building,  roughly  built  of  stone  with  clay 
instead  of  mortar.  "Within,  a  portion  was  divided  off 


HATE  AND  LOVE  39 

at  one  end  by  a  wooden  partition.  There  was  no  win- 
dow save  one  small  opening  under  the  low  eaves  which 
was  less  than  six  feet  from  the  ground.  It  was  about 
eight  inches  square  and  filled  with  a  piece  of  oiled  can- 
vas on  a  rudely  made  movable  frame  instead  of  glass. 
In  warm  weather  it  often  stood  open. 

The  children  stumbled  as  they  entered  the  dark  room 
and  crossed  the  uneven  floor  of  stamped  earth.  There 
was  no  movable  furniture  save  one  or  two  wooden  kists 
or  chests,  a  dilapidated  spinning  wheel  and  a  couple  of 
small  stools.  In  the  very  middle  of  the  floor  was  a  fire 
of  peats  on  a  flat  slab  of  stone  in  the  ground  and  a  simple 
hole  in  the  roof  allowed  the  choking  smoke  to  escape  after 
it  had  wandered  round  the  whole  building. 

An  old  man,  bent  double  with  rheumatism,  hastened 
forward  as  the  children  came  to  the  door  and,  holding 
out  both  his  hands,  shook  Audry's  and  Aline 's  at  the 
same  time.  ' '  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you, ' '  he  said,  ' '  and 
may  the  Mother  of  God  watch  over  you." 

He  quickly  brought  two  stools  and,  carefully  dusting 
them  first,  bade  his  young  visitors  sit  down  by  the  fire. 

"How  is  Joan  to-day,  Peter,"  asked  Aline,  "she  isn't 
out  again  is  she?" 

"No,  Mistress  Aline,  she  has  been  worse  the  last  few 
days  and  is  in  bed,  but  maybe  the  brighter  weather  will 
soon  see  her  out  and  about." 

He  hobbled  over  toward  a  corner  of  the  cottage,  where 
a  box-bed  stood  out  from  the  wall.  It  was  closed  in 
all  around  like  a  great  cupboard,  with  sliding  shutters 
in  the  front.  These  were  drawn  back,  but  the  interior 
was  concealed  by  a  curtain.  He  drew  aside  this  cur- 
tain and  within  lay  a  little  girl  about  eleven  years  old 


40  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

with  thin  wasted  cheeks  and  hollow  sunken  eyes.  She 
stretched  out  her  small  hand  as  the  two  children  ap- 
proached and  a  smile  lit  up  the  white  drawn  face. 

Aline  stooped  and  kissed  her.  ''Oh,  Joan,"  she  saidr 
"I  wish  you  would  get  well,  but  it  is  always  the  same, 
no  sooner  are  you  up  than  you  are  back  in  bed  again. 
I  have  been  asking  Master  Mowbray  about  you  and  he 
has  promised  that  the  leech  from  Barnard  Castle  shall 
come  and  see  you  as  soon  as  he  can  get  word  to 
him." 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  think  and  plan  about  me,  Mis- 
tress Aline,  and  I  believe  I  am  not  quite  so  badly  to-day, 
but  I  wish  that  horrid  old  'Moll  o'  the  graves'  would 
not  come  in  here  and  look  at  me.  She  does  frighten  me 
so.  Mother  was  always  so  frightened  of  Moll." 

"She  is  a  wretched  old  thing,"  said  Audry,  "but  do 
not  let  us  think  about  her. ' ' 

"You  mustn't  thank  us,  anybody  would  do  the  same," 
said  Aline;  "you  cannot  think  how  sorry  we  are  to  see 
you  like  this,  and  you  must  just  call  me  Aline  the  same 
as  I  call  you  Joan.  See !  Audry  and  I  have  brought  you 
a  few  flowers  and  some  little  things  from  the  Hall  that 
old  Elspeth  has  put  up  for  us,  and  when  the  leech 
comes,  he  will  soon  make  you  well  again." 

"I  sometimes  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  get  well 
any  more ;  each  time  I  have  to  go  back  to  bed  I  seem  to 
be  worse.  All  my  folk  are  gone  now  and  I  am  the  only 
one  left.  The  flowers  are  right  bonnie  though  and  the 
smell  of  them  does  me  good,"  she  added,  as  she  lifted 
the  bunch  of  early  carnations  that  the  children  had 
brought. 

After  she  had  spoken  she  let  her  hand  fall  and  lay 


HATE  AND  LOVE  41 

quite  still  gazing  at  the  two  as  though  even  the  few 
words  had  been  too  great  an  effort. 

The  bed  looked  very  uncomfortable  and  Aline  and 
Audry  did  their  best  to  smooth  it  a  little,  after  which 
Joan  closed  her  eyes  and  seemed  inclined  to  sleep. 

"I  wish  we  could  get  her  up  to  the  Hall,"  said  Aline 
in  a  whisper,  ' '  the  smoke  is  so  terrible  and  I  never  saw 
such  a  dreadful  place  as  that  bed." 

"Mother  would  never  hear  of  it;  so  it's  no  use  your 
thinking  of  such  a  thing." 

They  returned  to  the  fire  and  sat  down  on  the  stools 
for  a  few  moments  before  leaving. 

"Ay,  the  child  is  about  right,"  said  the  old  man,  "her 
poor  mother  brought  her  here  from  Kirkoswald  when 
her  man  died  last  November.  Sarah  Moulton  was  a 
sort  of  cousin  of  my  wife  who  has  been  lying  down  in 
Middleton  churchyard  this  many  a  long  year.  She  lived 
in  this  very  house  as  a  girl  and  seemed  to  think  she 
would  be  happier  here  than  in  Kirkoswald.  Well,  it 
was  not  the  end  of  March  before  she  had  gone  too  and 
the  lassie  is  all  that  is  left." 

The  children  bade  farewell  and  went  out.  As  they 
passed  the  end  of  the  house  they  saw  the  black  figure 
of  an  old  woman  creeping  round  the  back  as  though 
not  wishing  to  be  seen. 

"Oh,  there's  that  horrible  old  woman!  'Moll  o'  the 
graves,'  "  said  Audry;  "let  us  run.  I  wonder  what 
she  has  been  doing  listening  round  the  house;  I  hate 
her.  You  know,  Aline,  they  say  she  does  all  manner 
of  dreadful  things,  that  it  was  she  who  made  all  old 
Benjamin  Barley's  sheep  die.  Some  people  say  she  eats 
children  and  if  she  cannot  get  hold  of  them  alive  she 


42  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

digs  them  up  from  their  graves  at  night.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it,  but  come  along." 

"No,  I  want  to  see  what  she  is  doing,"  said  Aline; 
' '  I  am  sure  she  is  up  to  no  good.  I  believe  that  she  has 
been  spying  outside  waiting  for  us  to  depart,  so  that 
she  can  go  in." 

"But  you  cannot  prevent  her,"  said  Audry. 

"We  must  prevent  her,"  said  Aline;  "she  might 
frighten  Joan  to  death." 

Aline  was  right  and  the  old  woman  came  round  from 
the  other  end  of  the  house  and  approached  the  cottage 
door.  Aline  at  once  advanced  and  stood  between  the 
old  woman  and  the  door,  while  Audry  followed  and  took 
up  her  position  beside  Aline. 

"What  do  you  want,  mother?"  said  Aline. 

"What  business  is  that  of  yours?"  said  the  old  dame 
savagely;  "you  clear  away  from  that  door  or  I  will  make 
it  the  worse  for  you." 

She  raised  her  stick  as  she  spoke  and  glared  at  the 
children.  It  was  not  her  physical  strength  that  fright- 
ened them,  as  they  were  two  in  number,  although  she 
was  armed  with  a  stick,  but  something  gruesome  and 
unearthly  about  her  manner.  Aline  took  a  step  for- 
ward so  as  half  to  shelter  Audry,  but  her  breath  came 
quickly  and  she  was  filled  with  an  unspeakable  dread. 

"You  must  not  go  in  there,"  said  the  child  firmly; 
"there  is  a  little  girl  within  who  is  sick  and  she  must 
not  be  disturbed." 

"I  shall  do  as  I  please  and  go  in  if  I  please,"  she 
muttered,  advancing  to  the  door  and  laying  her  hand 
on  the  latch. 

Aline  at  once  seized  her  by  the  shoulders,  saying,  "I 


HATE  AND  LOVE  43 

may  want  your  help,  Audry,"  and  gently  but  firmly 
turned  her  round  and  guided  her  on  to  the  road.  Moll 
made  no  resistance,  as  she  feared  the  publicity  of  the 
road  and  moreover  the  girls  were  both  strong  and  well 
built,  though  of  different  types.  Aline  then  stepped  so 
as  to  face  her,  and  keeping  one  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
she  said,  as  she  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes, — "go  home, 
Moll,  Joan  is  not  well  enough  to  see  any  one  else  to-day, 
— go  home." 

The  old  woman's  eyes  dropped;  she  was  cowed;  she 
felt  herself  in  the  presence  of  something  she  had  never 
met  before,  as  she  caught  the  fire  in  those  intense  blue 
eyes.  "I  will  never  forgive  you,"  she  snarled,  but  she 
skulked  down  the  road  like  a  beaten  dog. 

The  children  stood  and  watched  her,  feeling  a  little 
shaken  after  their  unpleasant  experience. 

"What  a  good  thing  you  were  there,"  said  Audry. 
"I  am  sure  she  would  have  frightened  Joan  terribly." 

"Come,  let  us  forget  it,"  and  they  raced  down  to 
the  waterfall. 

It  was  a  magnificent  sight,  one  great  seething  mass  of 
foam,  cream-white  as  it  boiled  over  the  cliff ;  while  below, 
the  dark  brown  peat-coloured  water  swirled,  mysteri- 
ously swift  and  deep,  and  rainbows  danced  in  the  flying 
spray.  They  walked  down  the  stream  a  little  way 
watching  the  rushing  flood,  when  Aline  suddenly  cried 
out,  "Audry,  what  is  that  on  the  other  side?" 

Just  under  the  rock,  partly  concealed  by  the  over- 
hanging foliage,  could  be  made  out  with  some  difficulty 
the  form  of  a  man.  He  was  lying  quite  still  and  al- 
though they  watched  for  a  long  time  he  never  moved 
at  all. 


44  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"I  wonder  if  he  is  hiding,"  said  Audry. 

"I  am  sure  he  is  not,"  said  Aline.  "It  would  be  a 
very  poor  place  to  hide,  particularly  when  there  are  so 
many  better  ones  quite  close  by.  He  may  be  drowned." 

"Possibly,  but  I  think  he  is  too  high  out  of  the  water." 

"Then  perhaps  he  is  only  hurt;  I  wonder  if  there 
is  anything  that  we  could  do." 

"We  might  go  up  to  the  Hall  and  get  help,"  Audry 
suggested. 

"Yes,"  said  Aline,  doubtfully,  as  the  thought  crossed 
her  mind  that  he  might  be  the  poor  stranger  whom  the 
country-side  was  hunting  like  a  beast  of  prey  and  al- 
though she  could  not  explain  her  feelings  she  felt  too 
much  pity  to  do  anything  that  might  help  the  hunters 
and  therefore  it  would  not  be  wise  to  go  to  the  Hall. 
It  was  partly  the  natural  gentleness  of  her  nature  and 
partly  her  instinctive  abhorrence  of  the  vindictive  way 
in  which  Mistress  Mowbray  had  spoken  on  the  prevknis 
night. 

Then  a  shudder  passed  through  her  as  she  looked  at 
the  foaming  torrent.  Any  help  that  could  be  given 
must  be  through  that.  Aline  was  only  a  child ;  but  until 
she  came  to  Holwick  Hall  she  had  lived  entirely  with 
older  people  and  realised  as  children  rarely  do  the  full 
horror  of  death.  It  was  so  easy  to  stay  where  she  was, 
she  was  not  even  absolutely  certain  that  the  stranger 
was  in  any  real  danger.  It  was  not  her  concern.  But 
Aline  from  long  association  with  her  brave  father  hacl 
a  measure  of  masculine  physical  courage  that  will  even 
court  danger  and  that  overcame  her  natural  girlish 
timidity,  and  along  with  that  she  had  in  unusual  degree 
the  true  feminine  courage  that  can  suffer  in  silence 


HATE  AND  LOVE  45 

looking  for  no  approval,  no  victory  and  no  reward,  the 
stuff  of  which  martyrs  are  made.  "He  is  obviously 
unfortunate,"  she  said  to  herself, — "Oh,  if  I  could  only 
help  him,  what  does  it  matter  about  me,  and  yet  how 
beautiful  the  day  is,  the  rainbows,  the  clear  air,  the 
flowers  and  dear  Audry;  must  I  risk  them  all?" 

She  was  not  sure,  however,  what  line  her  cousin  might 
take  and  therefore  did  not  like  to  express  her  thoughts 
aloud.  On  the  other  hand  she  could  do  nothing  without 
Audry,  but  she  thought  it  best  to  keep  her  own  counsel 
and  do  as  much  as  she  could  before  Audry  could  possibly 
hinder  her.  So  she  only  said; — "But  if  we  went  for 
help  to  the  Hall  it  might  be  too  late  before  any  one 
came,  if  he  is  injured  and  still  alive." 

At  this  moment  both  of  them  distinctly  saw  the  figure 
move,  and  Aline  at  once  said,  "Oh,  we  must  help  him 
at  once.  I  am  sure  we  should  not  be  in  time  if  we  went 
up  to  the  Hall.  We  might  find  no  one  who  could  come 
and  there  might  be  all  manner  of  delays." 

"But  whatever  can  you  do,  Aline,  he  is  on  the  other 
side?" 

"I  shall  try  and  swim  across,"  she  said,  after  think- 
ing a  moment. 

"What,  in  all  this  flood !     That  is  impossible." 

"I  think  I  could  manage  it,  if  I  went  a  little  lower 
down  the  river  where  the  torrent  is  not  quite  so  bad." 

"Aline,  you  will  be  killed;  you  must  not  think  of  it." 

But  Aline  had  already  started  down  the  bank  to  the 
spot  that  she  had  in  her  mind.  Audry  ran  after  her, 
horror  struck  and  yet  unable  to  offer  further  opposition. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  are  always  astonishing  me," 
as  Aline  was  taking  off  her  shoes;  "you  seem  too  timid 


46  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

and  quiet,  and  here  you  are  doing  what  a  man  would 
not  attempt." 

"My  father  would  have  attempted  it,"  was  all  that 
Aline  vouchsafed  in  reply. 

She  took  off  her  surcoat,  her  coat-hardie  and  her  hose, 
and  then  turned  and  kissed  Audry.  "There  is  no  one 
to  care  but  you,"  she  said,  "if  I  never  come  back." 

For  a  few  moments  the  little  slim  figure  stood  looking 
at  the  black  whirling  of  the  treacherous  water,  her 
dainty  bare  feet  on  the  hard  rocks.  Her  white  camise 
lifted  and  fluttered  over  her  limbs  like  the  draperies  of 
some  Greek  maiden,  the  sunlight  flushing  the  delicate 
texture  of  her  skin,  while  her  beautiful  hair  flew  behind 
her  in  the  breeze.  It  was  but  a  passing  hesitation  and 
then  she  plunged  in  and  headed  diagonally  up  the  river. 
She  struck  out  hard  and  found  that  she  could  make 
some  progress  from  the  shore  although  she  was  being 
swiftly  carried  down  the  stream.  If  only  she  could 
reach  the  other  side  before  she  was  swept  down  to  the 
rapids  below,  where  she  must  inevitably  be  smashed  to 
pieces  on  the  rocks !  It  was  a  terrible  struggle  and 
Audry  sat  down  on  the  bank  and  watched  her,  overcome 
by  tears.  "Oh,  Aline,  little  Aline,"  she  cried,  "why 
did  I  ever  let  you  go?"  At  last  she  could  bear  to  look 
no  longer.  Aline  had  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
rapids,  and  although  she  was  now  close  to  the  further 
bank  there  seemed  not  the  slightest  hope  of  her  getting 
through. 

She  held  on  bravely,  straining  herself  to  the  utmost, 
but  it  was  no  use; — she  was  in  the  rapids  when  only  a 
couple  of  yards  from  the  shore.  Almost  at  once  she 
struck  a  great  rock,  but,  as  it  seemed  by  a  miracle, 


HATE  AND  LOVE  47 

although  much  bruised,  she  was  carried  over  the  smooth 
water-worn  surface  and  by  a  desperate  movement  that 
taxed  her  strength  to  the  uttermost,  was  able  to  force 
herself  across  it  and  the  small  intervening  space  of 
broken  water  and  scramble  on  to  the  shore. 

When  Audry  at  length  looked  up,  Aline  was  standing 
wringing  the  water  out  of  her  dripping  hair,  shaken  and 
bruised  and  cut  in  several  places,  but  alive.  She  took 
off  the  garment  she  had  on  and  wrung  it  out  before  put- 
ting it  on  again.  She  then  paused  for  a  moment  not 
knowing  what  to  do.  Blood  was  flowing  freely  from  a 
deep  cut  below  the  right  knee  and  also  from  a  wound 
on  the  back  of  her  right  shoulder.  She  hesitated  to  tear 
her  things  for  fear  of  the  wrath  of  Mistress  Mowbray, 
but  at  the  same  time  was  frightened  at  the  loss  of  blood. 
Finally  she  tore  off  some  strips  of  linen  and  bandaged 
herself  as  well  as  she  could  manage  and  made  her  way 
to  where  the  man  was  lying. 

Ian  Menstrie  had  had  a  hard  struggle.  He  had  been 
working  as  a  carpenter  in  Paris  and  had  fallen  in  with 
some  of  his  exiled  countrymen  and  become  for  a  time 
a  servant  to  John  Knox.  It  was  three  weeks  since  he 
had  left  France  with  the  important  documents  that  he 
was  bearing  from  Knox  and  others;  and  only  his  iron 
determination  had  carried  him  through.  Time  and 
again  nothing  but  the  utmost  daring  and  resourceful- 
ness had  enabled  him  to  slip  through  his  enemies'  hands. 
He  had  actually  been  searched  twice  unsuccessfully 
before  he  was  finally  arrested  as  a  heretic  at  York. 
After  extreme  suffering  he  had  escaped  again  and  the 
precious  papers  were  still  with  him.  He  had  reached 
Aske  Hall  in  Yorkshire,  some  twenty  miles  or  so,  over 


48  THE  CHILD  OP  THE  MOAT 

the  hills,  from  Holwick,  the  home  of  Elizabeth  of  Aske, 
mother  of  Margaret  Bowes,  whom  Knox  had  married,  a 
lady  with  whom  the  reformer  regularly  corresponded. 

But  almost  at  once  he  again  had  to  give  his  pursuers 
the  slip,  and  he  made  his  way  up  Teesdale  with  the 
precious  papers  still  on  him. 

Although  they  were  hot  on  his  trail  he  had  managed 
to  get  through  Middleton  in  the  night  unobserved  and 
would  probably  have  reached  the  hills  and  got  away 
North,  unseen;  but  he  met  a  little  four-year-old  boy  on 
the  road,  who  had  fallen  and  hurt  himself  and  was 
sitting  in  the-  rain  and  crying  bitterly.  There  was 
nothing  serious  about  it,  but  the  child  had  a  large  bruise 
on  his  forehead.  Ian  had  hesitated  a  moment,  looking 
apprehensively  behind,  but  stopped  and  bathed  the 
bruise  at  a  beck  close  by,  comforted  the  child  and  car- 
ried him  to  his  home  and  set  him  down  just  outside  the 
little  garden. 

The  delay,  however,  had  cost  him  dear;  the  day  was 
now  fully  up  and  two  or  three  people  noticed  the 
stranger  as  he  left  the  road  to  try  and  make  for  the 
steepest  ground  where  pursuit  would  be  less  easy. 
Shortly  afterwards  he  had  seen  men  in  the  distance,  both 
on  foot  and  on  horseback,  setting  out  on  his  track  and, 
with  infinite  difficulty,  availing  himself  of  every  hollow, 
at  the  risk  of  being  seen  at  any  moment  he  had  made  his 
way  to  the  river.  If  only  he  could  get  across,  he  argued, 
he  might  consider  himself  tolerably  safe.  They  would 
never  suspect  that  he  was  on  that  side  and  it  was  in 
any  case  the  best  road  to  the  North.  He  knew  little  of 
the  country,  of  course,  or  that  there  was  a  better  place 
to  attempt  the  feat  lower  down  the  stream.  He  leaped 


HATE  AND  LOVE  49 

in  where  he  found  himself  and  being  a  strong  swimmer 
he  made  his  way  over  but  was  sucked  down  by  an  eddy 
and  dashed  against  the  cliff  on  the  opposite  side,  but  on 
coming  to  the  surface  again  he  had  just  sufficient 
strength  to  get  out  of  the  water  and  crawl  along  the 
ledge  of  rock  to  where  the  overhanging  leaves  afforded 
at  least  a  partial  concealment.  Indeed,  the  place  was 
such  an  unlikely  one  that  anybody  actually  searching 
for  him  would  probably  have  overlooked  it. 

He  had  lain  there  for  hours,  the  pain  in  his  head 
being  intense.  One  ankle  was  badly  sprained  and  much 
swollen  and  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  broken  his  left 
collar  bone.  He  had  had  nothing  to  eat  for  days  and 
the  dizziness  and  the  pain  together  caused  him  re- 
peatedly to  fall  into  a  fitful  doze  from  which  he  would 
wake  trembling,  with  his  heart  beating  violently.  It 
was  after  one  of  these  dozes  that  he  woke  and,  on  open- 
ing his  eyes,  saw  a  little  figure  in  white  bending  over 
him,  whose  large  dark  blue  eyes,  filled  with  pity,  were 
looking  into  his  face.  Her  long  hair  fell  down  so  as  to 
touch  him  and  her  beautiful  arms  rested  on  the  rock 
on  either  side  of  his  head.  At  first  he  thought  it  was 
a  water-sprite  with  dripping  locks,  of  which  many  tales 
were  told  by  the  country  folk,  and  then  he  noticed  the 
blood  oozing  from  below  the  bandage  on  the  little  arm. 
"Who  are  you?"  he  asked  at  last,  as  his  senses  grad- 
ually returned. 

"My  name  is  Aline  and  I  have  come  to  help  you," 
she  said. 

"But,  sweet  child,  how  can  you  do  that?" 

As  his  brain  became  clearer  he  became  more  able  to 
face  the  situation.  Who  could  this  exquisite  fairy-like 


50  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

little  damsel  possibly  be,  and  how  could  she  ever  have 
heard  of  him  and  why  should  any  family  that  wished 
to  help  him  do  it  by  the  hands  of  any  one  so  young? 
Then  she  was  wet  and  wounded,  which  made  the  case 
jstill  more  extraordinary.  "Little  one,"  he  went  on, 
' '  why  have  you  come ;  do  you  know  who  I  am  ? ' ' 

"No,"  she  said,  "but  I  saw  you  lying  on  the  rock 
and  so  I  came  across  to  try  and  do  something  for 
you." 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  swam  that  raging 
river  ? ' ' 

"It  was  the  only  way  to  reach  you." 

"And  you  are  really  a  little  girl  and  not  a  water 
fay?"  he  asked  half  playfully  and  half  wondering  if 
there  really  could  be  such  things,  as  so  many  people 
seriously  believed.  It  was  almost  easier  to  believe  in 
fairies  than  to  believe  that  a  little  girl  had  actually 
swum  that  flood. 

"Of  course  I  am;  you  have  hurt  your  head  and  are 
talking  nonsense." 

It  seemed  hard  to  tell  her  who  he  was ;  this  charming 
little  maiden  would  then  hate  him  like  the  rest.  It 
was  not  that  he  thought  that  she  could  possibly  be  of 
serious  assistance  to  him;  but  it  was  a  vision  of  delight 
and  there  was  a  music  in  the  sound  of  her  voice  that  to 
the  exile  reminded  him  of  his  own  country.  Yet  he  felt 
it  was  his  duty  and  indeed  the  child  might  be  running 
great  risks  and  get  herself  into  dire  trouble  even  by 
speaking  to  him,  so  intense  was  the  hatred  of  the 
heretics. 

"Child,  you  must  not  help  me.    I  am  a  heretic." 


HATE  AND  LOVE  51 

"I  guessed  that  you  were,"  she  said,  and  the  large 
eyes  were  full  of  pity,  ''but  somehow  I  feel  that  it  is 
right  to  aid  any  one  in  distress. ' ' 

"When  you  are  older,  little  one,  you  will  think  dif- 
ferently. It  is  only  your  sweet  natural  child-heart  that 
instinctively  sees  the  right  without  prejudice  or 
sophistry. ' ' 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  do  not  understand  you;  but  we 
must  not  stop  talking  here,  we  must  get  you  to  a  place 
of  safety." 

"Will  your  people  help  me?"  he  said,  as  a  possible 
explanation  occurred  to  him.  "Are  they  of  the  re- 
formed faith?" 

"Are  they  heretics?  you  mean;  no,  indeed."  There 
was  just  the  suspicion  of  a  touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice ; 
it  was  true  that  to  her  a  heretic  was  a  member  of  a 
despised  class,  but  there  was  also  a  slight,  commingling 
of  bitterness  that  gave  the  ring  to  her  words,  and  which 
he  did  not  detect,  when  she  thought  of  the  unreasoning 
and  uncharitable  prejudice  that  Mistress  Mowbray  had 
shown  the  day  before. 

' '  But  that  does  not  mean  that  I  would  not  help  you, ' ' 
she  went  on.  "See  this  is  what  we  must  do.  Somehow 
or  other  we  must  get  back  to  the  other  side  and  first  I 
ought  to  bandage  your  head.  Have  you  hurt  yourself 
anywhere  else?"  She  looked  him  up  and  down  as  she 
spoke.  "Oh,  your  ankle  is  all  swollen  and  bleeding 
where  you  have  torn  your  hose;  we  must  try  and  do 
something  for  that." 

"That  can  wait  for  the  present,"  he  said,  glancing 
apprehensively  at  his  shoes,  which  mercifully  were  still 


52  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

uninjured  on  his  feet;  "the  worst  thing  is  that  I  think 
that  I  have  broken  my  collar  bone.  But  before  we  do 
anything  I  must  try  and  help  you  bandage  your  shoulder 
more  satisfactorily  for  it  is  bleeding  very  badly.  That 
will  not  be  very  easy/'  he  added,  smiling,  "as  I  have 
only  one  arm  and  you  yourself  cannot  reach  it." 

She  let  him  try  and  between  them  they  managed  it 
somehow,  and  he  wondered  again  as  he  tenderly  manip- 
ulated the  bandage,  how  such  a  little  fragile  thing  could 
be  undertaking  such  a  strenuous  task. 

"I  have  not  time  to  explain,"  said  Aline,  "but  there 
is  a  secret  chamber  in  the  Hall  where  you  could  be  hid- 
den, but  we  could  not  possibly  get  you  there  until  it  is 
dark.  There  is,  however,  a  hollow  tree  on  the  other 
side  where  we  sometimes  play,  in  which  you  can  sit  with 
your  feet  outside  and  they  can  be  covered  up  with  grass 
and  leaves.  It  is  perhaps  a  little  dangerous  but  I  see 
no  other  way  if  your  life  is  to  be  saved.  Can  you  bend 
your  arm  at  all?"  she  went  on.  "Has  it  any  strength 
in  it?" 

"It  is  practically  useless,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  somehow  or  other  we  have  to  swim  back  across 
that  river;  and  it  is  lucky  that  it  is  enormously  easier 
from  this  side.  The  rapids  set  towards  this  bank  and 
on  the  other  side  there  is  a  sort  of  backwater  opposite  to 
where  the  rapids  begin  on  this.  We  can  also  with  very 
little  danger  venture  to  start  some  twenty  yards  higher 
up  than  I  did  when  I  was  coming." 

"But  I  do  not  think  I  could  swim  at  all  in  that  rush 
with  only  one  arm,  and  in  any  case  you  will  have  to  go 
round ;  you  must  not  dream  of  attempting  to  swim  that 
water  again." 


HATE  AND  LOVE  53 

With,  all  her  gentleness  there  was  something  very 
queenly  about  Aline.  She  lifted  her  head  and  said, — 
"We  must  both  go  and  you  must  somehow  hold  on  to 
me  and  there  is  no  more  to  be  said." 

He  tried  to  dissuade  her,  but  the  little  thing  was 
adamant.  He  despised  himself  for  allowing  a  child  to 
help  him  at  all,  but  was  almost  as  under  a  spell.  His 
will  power  under  normal  conditions  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  things  about  him;  but  the  pain  of  fatigue 
and  the  long  nervous  strain  had  deprived  him  for  the 
moment  of  his  self-mastery.  His  head  was  full  of 
strange  noises  and  he  seemed  as  though  he  were  in  a 
dream.  At  last  he  yielded,  retaining  just  enough  self- 
consciousness  to  determine  that  he  would  let  himself  go, 
and  drown,  if  he  were  too  great  a  drag  on  her.  It  was 
clear,  as  she  said,  that  if  she  had  already  swum  the  other 
way,  there  was  little  real  risk  for  her  alone.  Moreover 
the  water  was  falling  all  the  time  and,  even  since  she 
had  come  over,  the  stream  was  slightly  less. 

Before  starting  Aline  looked  round  everywhere  cau- 
tiously and  then  called  to  Audry,  who  was  watching  on 
the  other  side,  to  have  a  long  branch  ready  to  hold  out 
to  them.  When  Audry  had  obtained  the  branch  they 
entered  the  water.  Although  the  pain  was  almost  in- 
tolerable he  had  decided  to  put  his  injured  arm  on  her 
shoulder  and  it  answered  beyond  their  expectations. 
He  was  a  very  strong  swimmer  and  all  that  it  was  neces- 
sary for  Aline  to  do  was  to  give  the  slight  help  necessary 
to  counteract  the  one-sided  tendency  and  to  improve  the 
balance  of  the  forward  part  of  the  body,  which  other- 
wise would  greatly  have  reduced  the  speed.  So  well 
did  they  manage  it  that  they  even  got  across  with  some 


54  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

ten  yards  to  spare,  being  still  further  helped  by  Audry's 
branch. 

They  clambered  up  the  bank,  a  task  not  easy  of  accom- 
plishment, and  took  Ian  Menstrie  at  once  to  the  tree 
which  was  close  by.  Aline  put  on  her  clothes,  taking 
the  remains  of  her  linen  shift  for  bandages.  Luck- 
ily she  had  on  several  occasions  in  her  father's  house 
helped  to  nurse  the  injured  and  knew  how  to  bind  the 
collar  bone  and  make  as  good  a  piece  of  work  of  the 
ankle  as  the  extemporised  bandages  would  allow.  Then 
bidding  him  good-bye  the  children  hurried  back  to  the 
Hall.  Aline  longed  to  take  him  food  but  decided  that, 
sad  as  it  was,  it  would  be  better  to  run  no  risks  whatever. 
Moreover,  she  wanted  to  discover  the  passage  under  the 
moat  and  there  was  none  too  long  before  the  evening 
meal. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PRISONER 

AS  they  walked  rapidly  back,  their  tongues  moved 
faster  than  their  feet. 
"Well,    you've    beaten    Burd    Aline,"    said 
Audry,  laughing;  "you've  rescued  your  knight  before 
you  even  know  his  name.     But  I'm  quite  sure  it's  all  the 
wrong  way  round; — the  knight  should  rescue  his  lady. 
Besides,  what's  the  good  of  a  man  in  homespun;  you 
need  some  grand  person;  you  do  not  know  how  to  do 
these  things,  my  lady.     I  wonder  who  he  is." 

"He's  Scots  anyway;  one  can  tell  that  from  his 
accent." 

"I  suppose  you  think  a  Scots  peasant  better  than  an 
English  gentleman." 

"I  will  not  be  denying  it,"  laughed  Aline. 

"  Oh !  then  yours  shall  be  a  peasant-knight,  you  always 
choose  things  different  from  other  people.  But  I  like 
his  face,  it  looks  strong." 

"Yes,  but  I  am  afraid  he  has  had  a  terrible  time," 
said  Aline;  "how  sad  those  deep-set  eyes  are;  but  they 
seem  determined." 

"Don't  you  like  his  mouth  and  chin?  It's  a  strong 
chin  and  I  like  those  well-shaped  sensitive  lips." 

"Yes,  but  I  think  the  eyes  are  more  striking." 

"It's  no  good,  though,  having  a  knight  at  all,  cer- 

55 


56  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

tainly  not  a  peasant-knight,"  said  Audry  roguishly, 
"unless  he  has  nice  lips." 

Aline  smiled.  "You're  getting  frivolous.  Now  be 
serious,  we  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 

They  reached  the  Hall,  ran  up  to  their  bedroom  and 
before  they  started  on  their  further  explorations  Aline 
took  out  the  book  so  as  to  be  prepared  for  emergencies. 
She  read  on  for  some  time  and  discovered  several  things, 
one  was  the  way  to  open  the  trap  door  that  led  into  the 
cave  and  especially  the  way  that  it  could  be  made  to 
open  from  the  outside  if  the  inner  bolts  were  not 
fastened.  Another  important  discovery  was  that  the 
door  of  their  room  could  be  locked  by  an  ingenious  bolt 
in  the  secret  stairway,  that  pushed  back  from  the  bolt- 
hole  into  the  lock  itself.  This  enabled  any  one  to  leave 
the  room  unlocked  when  away,  so  as  to  excite  no  sus- 
picion. Yet  on  returning,  after  seeing  that  the  room 
was  empty,  by  peering  through  a  small  slit,  one  could, 
by  locking  the  door,  make  sure  that  one  would  not  be 
caught  by  any  one  entering  the  room  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. The  children  again  made  their  way  down  the 
stairs  to  the  secret  room  where  they  paused  a  few  mo- 
ments to  look  at  things  for  which  there  was  not  time  on 
the  previous  occasion.  There  were  several  cupboards, 
one  of  which  had  stone  shelves  and  was  clearly  intended 
for  a  larder.  There  was  amongst  other  things  a  large 
iron  chest,  which  did  not  seem  to  have  any  lock  and 
which  greatly  excited  their  curiosity.  In  another  chest 
they  found  several  pistols  and  swords  besides  a  few  foils 
and  some  fencing  masks.  There  were  also  some  tools 
and  some  rope  and  a  whole  wardrobe  of  clothes  of  many 
kinds.  Most  of  the  things  were  very  old  but  a  certain 


THE  PRISONER  57 

number  were  comparatively  recent.  At  the  same  time 
there  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  the  room  had  been 
used  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

"Come,  we  must  not  stay  looking  at  these  things, 
however  interesting,"  said  Aline;  "we  must  be  getting 
on.  But  I  am  glad  there  is  a  nice  place  to  keep  food; 
only  we  shall  have  a  great  difficulty  in  getting  a  supply. ' ' 

She  opened  a  little  door  as  she  spoke  and  once  more 
they  found  themselves  in  a  narrow  passage  that  led 
down  a  flight  of  steps.  It  turned  abruptly  to  the  right 
at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  then  went  absolutely 
straight  for  what  seemed  to  them  an  interminable  length. 
It  was  only  the  thought  of  the  wounded  man  that  pre- 
vented them  from  turning  back.  There  was  a  little 
drain  at  the  bottom  of  the  passage  and  the  whole  sloped 
slightly  so  that  the  water  that  percolated  freely  through 
the  walls  was  carried  off. 

At  last  they  reached  the  end,  where  the  passage 
terminated  in  a  short  flight  of  stairs.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs  was  a  basin  hollowed  in  the  rock  and  this 
was  fed  by  a  spring  of  delicious  water.  They  went  up 
these  and  found  a  curious  door  made  of  stone.  It  was 
fastened  with  huge  wooden  bolts,  a  precaution,  as  they 
afterwards  guessed,  against  rust.  They  passed  through 
and  discovered  that  the  other  side  of  the  door  was  quite 
irregular  and  rough  and  the  chamber  in  which  they 
found  themselves,  if  chamber  it  could  be  called,  was 
like  a  natural  cave.  In  the  middle  of  the  rocky  floor 
was  a  great  stone.  Even  this  looked  natural  although 
they  found  that,  as  the  book  had  said,  it  was  so  cun- 
ningly shaped  and  balanced  that  it  would  swing  into  a 
vertical  position  without  much  effort  and  allow  of  a  man 


58  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

dropping  through  on  one  side  of  it.  But  the  clever  part 
of  it  was, — that  what  looked  like  accidental  breaks  in 
the  stone  were  so  arranged  that  certain  other  blocks 
could  be  fitted  into  them  and  the  surrounding  rock  so 
that  it  could  not  be  moved.  If  then  by  any  accident 
any  one  should  make  his  way  into  the  chamber  he  would 
only  think  that  he  had  come  into  a  natural  cave.  Audry 
let  herself  down  through  the  hole  and  with  the  help  of 
Aline  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  found  herself  in  a 
small  fissure  or  cave,  more  or  less  blocked  by  under- 
wood, where  the  stream  ran  through  a  little  hollow  or 
gully.  She  succeeded  in  getting  back  after  making  sev- 
eral unsuccessful  attempts. 

"It  is  an  excellent  place,"  said  Audry,  "but  however 
shall  we  get  him  through  that  passage,  it  is  so  very 
narrow  and  so  terribly  long." 

"We  might  even  have  to  leave  him  in  the  cave  room 
to-night,"  Aline  replied,  "but  I  think  it  would  be  a 
good  idea  to  count  our  steps  on  the  way  back.  It  will 
be  interesting  to  know  how  long  it  is,  and  we  shall  also 
be  able  to  tell  in  future  how  far  we  are  at  any  moment 
from  the  end." 

This  they  did  and  found  that  it  was  1100  paces,  which 
they  reckoned  would  be  as  nearly  as  possible  half  a  mile. 
Before  they  entered  their  bedroom  again  they  experi- 
mented with  the  secret  bolt  that  fastened  the  door,  which 
acted  perfectly,  although,  like  everything  else,  they 
found  that  it  would  be  the  better  for  a  little  oil. 

It  seemed  a  long  evening,  but  at  last  it  was  time  to 
go  to  bed.  The  children  went  upstairs  and  waited  im- 
patiently until  they  were  quite  sure  that  every  one  was 
asleep.  They  had  managed  to  secrete  a  little  food  to 


THE  PRISONER  59 

take  with  them  and  also  a  few  pieces  of  firewood,  and 
put  a  little  more  in  the  secret  room  as  they  made  their 
way  out.  They  had  already  begun  to  get  somewhat 
used  to  the  stair  and  found  even  the  long  secret  passage 
less  alarming.  It  was  a  clear  night  although  there  was 
no  moon,  and  they  made  their  way  without  difficulty  to 
the  hollow  tree.  They  found  Ian  Menstrie  stiff  with 
cold  and  in  great  pain,  but  his  senses  almost  preter- 
naturally  alert. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  he  said.  "I  thought 
that  something  had  prevented  you  and  was  wondering 
whether  I  could  live  here  till  the  morning." 

lan's  nature  was  a  combination  of  strength  and  ten- 
derness and  was  as  likely  to  be  exercising  its  force  in 
protecting  or  shielding  as  in  attacking.  He  had  reso- 
lutely carried  on  the  work  that  he  felt  to  be  his  duty 
in  spite  of  the  most  terrible  risks  and,  when  he  had 
finally  been  captured  and  concluded  that  it  was  equally 
his  duty  to  escape,  he  had  carried  out  his  plans  with 
a  ruthless  determination;  but,  in  the  presence  of  these 
children,  only  the  extreme  tenderness  of  his  character 
was  called  into  play. 

He  looked  at  the  two  small  figures  and,  in  spite  of 
his  terrible  plight,  his  heart  smote  him  that  they  should 
be  wandering  about  at  night  instead  of  getting  their 
rest,  and  particularly  Aline,  who  had  been  through  so 
much  already. 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  come,  and  oh,  I  do  hope  that 
you  will  take  no  harm.  How  are  you  feeling,  little 
one?"  he  asked,  addressing  Aline. 

"Oh,  I  am  all  right,"  she  said  brightly,  for  she  did 
not  wish  him  or  Audry  to  know  how  her  arm  pained 


60  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

her,  and  indeed  the  excitement  was  in  a  way  keeping 
her  up.  "It  is  you  who  are  to  be  asked  after;  we  have 
brought  you  a  little  to  eat  now  and  there  will  be  some- 
thing else  when  we  get  to  the  secret  room." 

It  was  a  painful  journey.  Ian  set  his  teeth  and  tried 
to  make  the  best  of  it  and  lean  on  his  small  guides  as 
little  as  possible,  but  he  was  at  the  last  gasp  and  he  was 
a  heavy  burden.  Luckily  he  had  a  naturally  strong 
constitution  and  forced  it  to  do  its  work  by  the  excep- 
tional strength  of  his  will  or  he  would  have  succumbed 
altogether.  But  he  felt  that  what  he  had  been  through 
in  the  last  two  weeks  had  weakened  his  mental  power 
and  was  glad  that  there  was  a  chance  for  at  least  a 
respite  before  he  would  be  called  upon  to  face  his  tor- 
mentors again.  In  his  present  condition  he  felt  that 
he  could  not  answer  for  himself  and  the  thought  was 
too  terrible.  Supposing  that  they  should  put  him  on 
the  rack  once  more  and  that  he  should  deny  his  faith! 
Perhaps  for  the  present  at  least  he  was  to  be  spared 
this. 

They  very  slowly  made  their  way  along  the  bed  of  the 
stream  and  eventually  reached  the  cave.  Aline  helped 
Audry  up  through  the  trap  door  first,  and  then  the  chil- 
dren just  succeeded  in  getting  the  injured  man  through, 
for  he  was  becoming  less  and  less  able  to  help  himself. 
Then  began  the  long  weary  passage. 

It  was  an  exhausting  process  and  Ian  Menstrie  seemed 
to  be  settling  into  a  sort  of  stupor.  They  had  gone 
about  700  paces  when  he  fell  right  down.  ' '  I  will  be  go- 
ing on  in  a  minute, ' '  he  answered.  So  they  waited  a  mo- 
ment or  two  and  then  asked  him  if  he  was  ready.  "Oh, 
I  am  coming  in  a  minute,"  he  said  once  more.  They 


THE  PRISONER  61 

waited  again  for  a  time  but  when  they  roused  him,  each 
time  it  was  the  same  reply.  "Oh,  yes,  certainly,  I  am 
coming  just  in  a  moment."  Finally  there  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  half  carry  him  and  half  drag  him  along. 

"I  wish  we  had  put  him  in  the  cave  to-night,"  ex- 
claimed Audry. 

"But  we  should  never  have  got  enough  things  there 
to  make  him  comfortable, ' '  said  Aline.  ' '  I  think  we  are 
really  doing  what  is  best  and  it  will  not  be  long  now 
before  we  are  there." 

Aline 's  shoulder  was  excruciating,  and  she  knew  that 
it  was  bleeding  again.  Her  other  cut  had  also  opened 
with  the  strain,  and  every  limb  in  her  little  body  ached 
as  it  had  never  done  in  her  life.  "I  must  be  brave," 
she  said  to  herself;  "what  would  father  have  done  if 
he  had  been  here?"  The  cold  sweat  stood  on  her  brow 
but  she  never  uttered  a  murmur  and  was  anxious  that 
Audry,  who  was  fairly  worn  out  herself,  should  not  know 
how  bad  she  was  feeling.  The  last  50  yards  she  accom- 
plished in  intense  agony  and  her  thankfulness  to  reach 
the  chamber  was  inexpressible. 

They  lit  the  fire  and  laid  Menstrie  on  the  bed.  Then 
they  gave  him  some  water  which  seemed  to  revive  him 
a  good  deal  and  he  was  able  to  thank  them  and  to  take 
food. 

When  he  seemed  to  have  come  to  himself  Aline  sat 
down  on  a  chair.  She  leaned  back  and  commenced  to 
shiver,  her  teeth  chattered  till  her  whole  frame  shook. 
The  others  were  frightened;  it  was  clear  that  she  was 
suffering  from  collapse.  Luckily  there  was  a  fair  sup- 
ply of  wood,  as  there  had  been  several  large  pieces  in 
the  room  when  the  children  discovered  it,  and  they  had 


62  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

brought  a  quantity  of  small  stuff.  So  there  was  soon 
a  roaring  fire  and  they  were  able  to  give  Aline  something 
hot  to  drink.  Ian  in  spite  of  his  own  injuries  did  all 
that  he  could.  They  managed  to  shift  the  oak  bed  a 
little  nearer  to  the  fire  and  warmed  blankets  and 
wrapped  Aline  in  them  and  laid  her  on  the  bed. 
Gradually  the  shivering  passed  away,  but  she  lay  there 
looking  very  white  and  shaken,  with  great  black  rings 
round  her  eyes,  as  if  they  had  been  bruised.  Her 
wounds  caused  her  considerable  pain.  Audry,  who  was 
a  sweet  hearted  child  but  without  the  imaginative  sym- 
pathy and  intense  self-sacrifice  of  her  little  cousin,  toiled 
up  the  stairs  and  brought  down  some  fresh  linen.  They 
then  gently  washed  the  wounds  and  put  clean  oil  upon 
them,  Ian  cursing  himself  all  the  while  because  of  his 
helplessness  with  his  single  hand,  but  able  from  many 
fighting  experiences  to  direct  Audry  in  the  manipulation 
of  the  bandages. 

"Is  that  more  comfortable?"  he  asked  when  they  had 
finished. 

"Yes,"  she  said  smiling,  "I  feel  ever  so  much  better 
and  I  think  that  I  could  go  to  sleep." 

Audry  then  assisted  Ian  to  bandage  his  ankle,  and 
under  his  directions  also  saw  that  the  broken  bone  was 
all  right.  He  then  lay  down  on  the  bed  and  Audry 
curled  herself  in  a  great  chair  and  went  to  sleep. 

For  Ian  sleep  was  out  of  the  question;  and  he  lay 
there  watching  the  firelight  dancing  on  the  faces  of  the 
^lumbering  children,  the  one  beautiful  with  a  robust 
health  and  well  cut  features  and  strongly  built  limbs, 
finely  proportioned  throughout;  the  other  beautiful  en- 
tirely beyond  any  ordinary  beauty,  with  an  extreme 


THE  PEISONEE  63 

r 

delicacy  and  subtlety  in  every  line  of  her  face  as  he  had 
already  noticed  in  her  figure,  yet  never  even  suggesting 
the  least  touch  of  weakness.  He  had  never  seen  such 
hair,  which  seemed  to  cover  the  bed.  Its  rich  deep 
colour  glowed  with  an  extraordinary  lustre  and  he 
noticed  that  her  skin,  unlike  that  of  most  people  with 
red  hair,  was  absolutely  clear  and  marked  by  a  strange 
translucent  quality  that  was  unique.  One  small  arm 
was  lying  out  on  the  coverlet  with  the  sleeve  tucked  up. 
He  had  not  realised  before  that  a  child 's  arm  could  show 
so  much  variety  of  form  and  modelled  surface  and  yet 
retain  the  essential  slenderness  and  daintiness  of  child- 
hood. She  might  well  have  been  some  fairy  princess 
sleeping  among  the  flowers. 

Aline 's  beauty  undoubtedly  had  about  it  something 
supernatural.  It  was  all  in  keeping  with  her  manner 
and  character.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  another 
world  about  her  of  which  every  one  who  met  her  sooner 
or  later  became  aware.  It  could  not  be  put  into  words 
and  could  not  be  analysed.  In  a  sense  it  was  unnatural, 
but  so  far  from  repelling  any  one  it  had  about  it  a 
mysterious,  almost  magical  fascination  that  was  irre- 
sistible. 

Only  the  basest  natures  failed  to  be  drawn  by  it,  and 
even  in  their  cases  it  was  not  that  they  did  not  feel  it, 
but  that  they  consciously  withstood  it  as  a  power  with 
which  their  whole  nature  was  at  variance. 

Ian  was  devoutly  glad  that  she  was  no  worse  and 
offered  up  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  that  she  was  at  least 
safe.  As  he  looked  at  her  he  recalled  her  soft,  not  very 
pronounced,  musical  Scots  accent,  and  his  thoughts 
turned  to  the  land  of  his  birth.  Her  face  too! — why 


64  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

had  he  not  noticed  it  before,  how  strangely  like  it  was 
in  certain  aspects  to  the  face  of  his  dreams,  that  still 
followed  him  wherever  he  went,  although  he  had  not 
seen  it  for  thirteen  years?  He  had,  however,  reluc- 
tantly to  admit  that  this  mere  child's  face  was  even 
more  beautiful.  After  all  she  too  had  really  been  only 
a  child,  although  rather  more  than  a  couple  of  years 
older  than  himself,  when  he  had  worshipped  her  with 
all  the  fervour  of  a  boy's  adoration  and  had  suddenly 
lost  sight  of  her  when  her  parents  had  unexpectedly 
taken  her  away  to  be  married.  But  the  face  had  lived 
with  him  day  and  night,  and  no  other  face  had  ever 
come  between  him  and  his  vision.  Nor  had  the  dis- 
covery long  afterward, — that  she  had  died  soon  after 
her  child  was  born,  ever  inclined  him  to  look  elsewhere. 

Aline  moaned  slightly  and  moved  her  head  uneasily 
as  though  not  quite  comfortable.  He  smoothed  the  pil- 
low for  her  and  registered  a  vow  that  he  would  do  all 
that  he  could  to  serve  her,  not  only  in  return  for  what 
she  had  done  for  him,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  chance 
resemblance  to  that  one  who  had  gone  and  who  through 
all  these  years  had  meant  so  much  to  him. 

And  yet  who  was  he  to  serve  or  to  help  any  one? — 
a  wanderer  with  a  price  upon  his  head;  and  he  began 
to  turn  over  the  events  of  the  last  few  years  in  his  mind. 
All  had  promised  so  well  with  him  and  yet  everything 
had  been  adverse.  He  had  early  distinguished  himself 
both  for  his  learning  and  his  military  skill,  which  drew 
down  upon  him  the  envy  of  his  brothers,  particularly 
the  eldest,  when,  as  a  mere  boy,  he  was  one  of  the  few 
who  distinguished  himself  in  the  unfortunate  battle  of 
Pinkey  Cleugh  and  he  had  looked  forward  to  some  recog- 


THE  PRISONER  65 

nition  or  advancement,  but  the  jealousy  of  his  brothers 
had  made  that  impossible.  Then  he  had  fallen  under 
the  influence  of  George  Wishart  *  and  incurred  the  un- 
dying anger  of  his  father,  and  so  great  was  the  enmity 
of  the  family  that  finally  he  fled  the  country,  first  to 
England  and  afterwards,  at  Mary's  accession,  to  France 
and  then  to  Italy,  where  he  spent  some  years  and  fol- 
lowed first  the  calling  of  a  smith.  There  he  not  only 
learned  about  the  making  of  arms  but  acquired  a  con- 
siderable facility  in  the  new  art  of  swordmanship  as 
practised  in  Italy.  Nor  were  his  fingers  idle  in  other 
ways;  he  executed  designs  first  in  metalwork  and  then 
in  wood  and  other  materials  and  became  an  accom- 
plished draughtsman  besides  exhibiting  great  creative 
power.  He  might  even  have  become  one  of  the  world's 
great  artists  had  not  circumstances  directed  his  energies 
into  other  fields. 

It  was  his  brothers  he  knew  who  were  behind  his 
present  trouble  and  it  cut  him  to  the  quick.  He  had  no 
enmity  to  them.  It  was  not  his  fault  that  they  had 
not  distinguished  themselves.  For  the  sake  of  friend- 
ship he  would  willingly  have  obliterated  his  achieve- 
ments and  have  given  up  everything  to  them;  but  of 
course  that  could  not  be,  yet  they  would  not  forget.  He 
had  been  for  the  last  month  in  prison  and  strong  as  he 
undoubtedly  still  was,  it  was  nothing  to  what  he  had 
been.  Many  a  time  had  his  slight  wiry  frame  aston- 
ished his  comrades  by  its  extraordinary  powers  of  en- 
durance. 

He  was  lightly  built  and  excellently  proportioned, 
with  rather  broad  shoulders  that  particularly  suited  the 

*  The  great  Scottish  reformer  and  martyr. 


66  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

costume  of  the  day.  He  had  on  more  than  one  occasion 
sat  for  artists  in  Italy,  including  Paolo  Veronese  him- 
self, because  of  the  exceptional  beauty  of  his  figure. 

His  escape  had  been  almost  a  miracle,  as  he  had  no 
friends  in  the  country  and  he  had  to  think  and  carry 
on  everything  himself ;  he  had  been  nearly  caught  again 
twice  and  he  had  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  the  fate 
of  George  Wishart  whom  he  had  himself  seen  strangled 
and  burnt  at  the  stake.  It  was  true  that  for  the  mo- 
ment he  was  safe,  but  for  how  long  ?  He  looked  at  the 
beautiful  child  and  shuddered  again.  Suppose  he 
should  in  any  way  implicate  her.  The  priests  would 
have  no  more  pity  upon  her  than  upon  himself.  No, 
that  he  would  not  do.  He  would  die  rather  than  that. 
Would  it  not  be  best  for  him  to  go  away  at  once  rather 
than  be  a  possible  cause  of  injury  to  anything  so  gentle 
and  brave  and  fair? 

He  rose  up  as  the  thought  came  to  him ;  yes,  he  would 
go  away;  it  should  never  be  said  that  he  had  brought 
calamity  upon  a  child.  He  stumbled  across  the  floor 
and  made  his  way  down  to  the  passage,  but  he  had  not 
realised  how  weak  he  was.  Hitherto  he  had  been  buoyed 
up  by  excitement;  now  that  that  was  over  the  pain  was 
more  than  he  could  stand  and  he  fainted  and  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground. 

When  he  again  came  to,  he  realised  the  impossibility 
of  his  getting  away  down  the  long  passage,  and  he  also 
began  to  wonder  whether  after  all  he  might  not  be  of 
more  use  if  he  stayed.  He  did  not  as  yet  know  who 
the  child  was;  it  was  clear  that  she  was  Scots  and  did 
not  belong  to  the  family  of  Holwick  Hall;  perhaps  in 
the  workings  of  Providence  he  had  been  sent  there  to 


THE  PRISONER  67 

be  of  some  use  to  her.  He  could  at  least  wait  and  find 
out  a  few  things  and  then  see  what  was  best  to  be  done. 
So  he  crawled  back  to  the  room  again  and  waited  for 
the  morning. 

To  while  away  the  time  he  took  off  his  shoes  to  see  that 
they  were  all  right. 

They  were  peculiarly  made,  with  false  inner  soles  of 
many  thicknesses  of  parchment,  covered  with  oil  silk  and 
several  layers  of  paint. 

These  were  the  precious  documents  that  had  been 
purposely  written  in  that  shape.  The  false  soles  were 
secured  by  stout  canvas  and  thin  leather  covers  which 
formed  part  of  the  shoes.  They  could  not  be  taken  out 
without  cutting  the  shoes  to  pieces. 

As  far  as  he  could  see  they  seemed  to  have  sustained 
no  damage  in  spite  of  the  wetting. 

There  were  three  minute  slits  or  peepholes  in  the 
corners  and  middle  of  the  room.  These  were  evidently 
intended  as  lookout  places  and  were  covered  with  small 
sliding  shutters  which  he  opened.  The  night  seemed 
almost  interminable,  but  at  length  the  dawn  began  to 
break.  He  waited  as  long  as  he  dared  and  then  woke 
Audry. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  exclaimed;  "oh,  I  remember. 
How  are  you  and  how  is  Aline  ? ' '  She  rose  as  she  spoke 
and  went  towards  the  sleeping  figure.  "I  suppose  we 
ought  to  wake  her, — Aline,  dear,  wake  up." 

Aline  opened  her  eyes  and  gradually  roused  herself. 
She  was  certainly  better  than  on  the  previous  night,  but 
still  obviously  very  ill.  However,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  done  but  to  get  her  upstairs  somehow,  and  then  there 
was  no  alternative  but  to  leave  her  in  bed. 


68  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

The  children  looked  at  each  other.  "Whatever  shall 
we  say?"  said  Audry. 

"We  must  not  say  what  is  not  true,"  answered  Aline. 

' '  No,  but  we  cannot  tell  them  everything. ' ' 

"It  is  very  difficult." 

' '  Could  you  not  say  that  you  fell  on  a  rock,  Aline  ? ' ' 

"That  is  not  what  I  mean  is  difficult." 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"I  mean  it  is  difficult  to  know  how  to  speak  the  truth. 
Even  if  we  do  not  say  what  is  untrue  we  let  them  think 
wrongly. ' ' 

"Well,  we  cannot  help  that,  Aline." 

"I  do  not  know,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  comes  to  the 
same  thing  as  if  we  told  them  a  falsehood." 

"Oh,  bother  them;  if  they  ask  no  questions  they  will 
get  told  no  stories." 

Aline 's  mind  was  not  satisfied;  but,  after  all  their 
calamities,  fortune  now  favoured  the  children.  There 
came  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Elspeth,  Audry 's  old 
nurse,  came  in.  "You  are  rather  late  this  morning," 
she  said,  and  then  she  noticed  that  Aline  was  still  in 
bed,  "and  one  of  you  not  up.  Marry  now,  but  it  is  a 
good  thing  for  you  that  Mistress  Mowbray  has  other 
things  to  think  of  this  morning.  She  has  just  received 
an  urgent  letter  from  her  sister  at  Appleby  to  say  that 
she  has  been  taken  sick,  and  will  she  come  over  without 
delay.  The  serving  man  that  brought  the  letter  has  only 
just  now  returned  homeward." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Aunt  Ann?"  asked  Audry. 

' '  Oh,  it  is  nothing  to  fret  yourself  about,  hinnie, ' '  the 
old  woman  went  on,  "but  such  an  upset  and  turmoil  in 
the  house  you  never  saw.  Mistress  Mowbray  is  carry- 


THE  PRISONER  69 

ing  over  enough  things,  as  she  were  to  be  staying  there 
the  rest  of  her  life;  and  Appleby  only  those  few  miles 
away  too.  Well,  I  must  hurry  away ;  I  have  more  to  do 
than  I  can  manage." 

"Oh,  nurse,  can  Aline  stay  in  bed  this  morning? 
She  is  not  very  well ;  she  hurt  herself  a  little  yesterday. 
I  will  bring  up  her  breakfast ;  it  is  nothing  serious. ' ' 

"All  right,  dearie, — it's  nothing  serious?"  she  re- 
peated as  she  heard  Mistress  Mowbray's  voice  calling 
angrily  from  the  bottom  of  the  stairs.  "I  am  glad  of 
that,  but  I  must  go,"  and  she  departed. 

Aline  had  kept  her  face  away  so  that  Elspeth  should 
not  see  how  ill  she  looked.  The  children  were  much  re- 
lieved when  they  heard  the  footsteps  die  away. 

In  a  way  Aline 's  illness  even  helped  them,  as  it  en- 
abled Audry  to  take  up  food  without  suspicion,  and  it 
was  thus  possible,  owing  to  the  general  confusion  in  the 
house,  to  lay  in  a  small  supply  for  the  other  invalid 
below. 

The  next  morning  Aline  was  considerably  better,  hav- 
ing the  marvellous  recuperative  power  of  childhood,  but 
it  was  clear  that  she  would  not  be  herself  for  some  time. 

"You  do  look  a  sight,  you  know,"  said  Audry,  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  her  neck.  "Your  eyelids  and  all 
round  the  eyes  up  to  the  eyebrow  are  still  black.  What- 
ever shall  we  do  now,  because  nurse  will  certainly  come 
up  to-day?" 

' '  She  is  a  dear  old  thing  and  you  can  always  get  round 
her.  I  shall  get  up  and  go  down  and  stand  with  my 
back  to  the  light  and  keep  my  head  low,  and  hope  that 
no  one  will  notice ;  then  you  must  get  nurse  to  let  us  have 
a  holiday  and  take  our  dinner  with  us  on  to  the  hills. 


70  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

We  can  stay  away  till  it  is  dark  and  then  no  one  will  see. 
I  am  ever  so  much  better  to-day  and  shall  be  all  right 
to-morrow.  We  need  only  go  a  little  way  and  it  is  a 
beautiful  day,  and  I  can  lie  in  the  sunshine.  I  wonder 
how  poor  Master  Menstrie  is,"  she  went  on.  "I  am 
afraid  that  he  will  take  a  great  deal  longer  to  get  well 
than  I  shall.  You  will  of  course  look  after  him." 

Aline 's  plan  succeeded  beyond  expectation.  Master 
Mowbray  was  in  a  hurry,  as  he  wanted  to  ride  over  to. 
Appleby  for  a  few  days  and  Nurse  was  busy  with  prepa- 
rations. So  Aline  spent  the  long  summer  days  on  the 
moors  watching  the  great  white  clouds  roll  over  the  hills 
and  thinking  of  all  that  had  happened  in  the  last  few 
days  and  the  new  responsibilities  that  had  fallen  upon 
her.  It  was  clear  that  it  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to 
feed  their  guest,  particularly  as  she  was  determined  not 
to  take  food  from  the  house.  Perhaps  it  was  true  as 
Audry  said,  that  people  had  no  right  to  demand  answers 
to  any  question  that  they  might  choose  to  ask;  but  cer- 
tainly that  did  not  justify  one  in  taking  what  did  not 
belong  to  one.  She  was  just  at  the  age  when  the  intelli- 
gence begins  to  arouse  itself  and  face  the  great  problems 
of  life  and  this  was  only  one  of  the  questions  that  stirred 
her  young  mind.  There  was  also  the  matter  of  the  here- 
tics and  again  Audry  had  in  her  frank  direct  way  sup- 
plied the  answer  of  fair  play  and  common  sense. 

Aline  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  ask  Master 
Menstrie  about  some  of  these  things;  at  least,  as  Audry 
had  said,  there  could  be  no  harm  in  hearing  both  sides 
and  she  must  judge  for  herself. 

Audry  went  back  after  a  while  to  see  Master  Menstrie ; 
and  Aline,  when  she  had  been  out  on  the  moor  for  a  long 


THE  PKISONER  71 

time,  returned  to  the  Hall  as  the  afternoon  sun  was  get- 
ting low.  Before  going  in,  she  sat  down  by  the  moat  and 
looked  across  at  the  grey  pile.  The  water  seemed  to  be 
shallow  at  that  point  as  though  the  bank  had  slipped  in 
and  yellow  irises  were  growing  at  the  edge. 

Although  the  bulk  of  the  building  was  little  more  than 
a  hundred  years  old,  except  the  early  pele  tower  that 
had  been  built  into  the  structure,  time  had  laid  its  fin- 
gers upon  it  and  it  looked  very  mellow  in  the  afternoon 
sun.  The  stone  shingles  of  the  roof  were  covered  with 
golden  lichen,  while,  behind  the  parapet  of  the  little  old 
tower,  a  piece  of  ivy  had  taken  root  and  hung  down 
through  one  of  the  crenellations  trailing  a  splash  of 
green  over  the  grey  wall.  There  was  a  stern  beauty 
about  it  and  the  long  line  of  narrow  oilettes  in  the  gran- 
ary added  to  the  somewhat  fortress-like  appearance. 

As  she  sat  there  she  saw  a  small  figure  approaching; 
it  was  Joan. 

Aline  beckoned  to  her  and  she  came  up  shyly  and 
Aline  drew  her  down  to  a  seat  at  her  side.  "I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you  out  again,  Joan ;  I  do  hope  this  is  going 
to  be  a  real  lasting  improvement,"  she  said,  taking  a  lit- 
tle wasted  hand  in  one  of  her  own  and  putting  the  fin- 
gers of  her  other  hand  round  the  small  wrist.  "Why, 
there's  nothing  there  at  all,"  she  went  on,  blowing  at  the 
hand  and  letting  it  fall;  "see  how  easily  I  can  blow  it 
away:  why.  if  I  blew  hard  I  should  blow  it  off.  You 
must  be  quick  and  get  stronger." 

The  little  maid  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"And  you  mustn't  look  so  doleful  either,"  and  Aline 
kissed  her  in  the  corner  of  each  eye  which  made  Joan 
laugh. 


72  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"There,  that's  better;  now  you  must  forget  yourself 
and  I  will  tell  you  a  story. ' ' 

At  that  moment  Audry  appeared  on  the  scene. 
"Well,  you  are  a  pair,  you  two,"  she  said,  with  a  kindly 
sparkle  in  her  merry  brown  eyes;  "you  could  not 
raise  a  spot  of  colour  between  you;  but,  Joan,  it's  good 
to  see  you  out  at  all,  in  spite  of  your  pale  cheeks.  How 
are  you  and  what  did  Master  Barlow  say  ? ' ' 

"  I  do  not  think  he  knew  what  was  the  matter ;  but  he 
said  that  I  ought  to  go  away  and  see  if  other  surround- 
ings would  help  me.  He  was  a  kind  old  man." 

"We  must  see  what  we  can  do,  Joan,  when  Master 
Mowbray  comes  back  from  Appleby." 

"I  do  not  think  it  is  good  for  either  of  you  to  be  out 
in  the  evening  air,"  said  Audry.  "  Come  along  in, 
Aline." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her,  Mistress  Audry?"  said 
Joan. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Aline;  "I  shall  be  all  right  to- 
morrow, but  I  must  obey  this  tyrannous  lady ;  good-bye, 
Joan." 

Audry  had  had  difficulties  with  her  patient.  Menstrie 
so  far  from  improving  grew  distinctly  worse.  His  head 
was  causing  him  great  pain  and  the  want  of  sleep  made 
him  a  wreck.  She  had  no  scruples  about  the  food  like 
Aline,  maintaining  in  her  blunt  way  that  it  was  the  duty 
of  the  house  to  be  kind  to  the  stranger  and  that,  if  the 
other  people  did  not  do  their  duty,  then  she  must  do  it 
for  them  whatever  it  involved.  But  she  was  very  glad 
that  Aline  had  so  much  improved  after  a  few  days  as 
to  be  able  to  come  and  see  the  invalid  with  her. 

He  was  obviously  in  a  high  fever  and  was  gradually 


THE  PRISONER  73 

getting  delirious.  The  old  nurse  took  very  little  notice 
of  them  while  her  mistress  was  away  and  they  would  slip 
out  on  to  the  moors  and  make  their  way  back  to  the 
secret  room  by  the  underground  passage.  As  Aline 
grew  strong  lan's  illness  laid  a  greater  and  greater  hold 
upon  him.  Aline  insisted  in  sitting  up  with  him  the 
greater  part  of  the  night.  There  was  not  a  great  deal 
that  she  could  do;  but  she  prepared  a  concoction  from  a 
little  yellow  flowered  plant  that  grew  upon  the  moor 
and  that  was  deemed  good  for  fevers  and  administered 
this  at  regular  intervals. 

He  spoke  but  rarely,  but  his  eyes  would  follow  her 
wherever  she  went.  When  his  head  was  exceptionally 
bad  he  would  complain  of  the  burning  and  she  would 
place  wet  cloths  on  his  brow,  or  in  fits  of  shivering  she 
would  do  all  that  she  could  to  keep  him  warm. 

At  length  he  seemed  to  take  a  distinct  turn  for  the  bet- 
ter. One  night  after  a  violent  perspiration  she  was  try- 
ing to  change  the  bedclothes  and  make  him  more  com- 
fortable when  he  spoke  to  her  quite  clearly  and  in  a 
voice  unlike  the  almost  incoherent  ramblings  of  the  last 
few  days, — ' '  What  a  wonderful  little  angel  you  are, ' '  he 
said. 

"I  could  not  do  less,"  she  replied. 

"I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  do  anything  at  all; 
how  long  have  you  been  tending  me  like  this  ? ' ' 

"Audry  has  been  attending  you  a  great  part  of  the 
time." 

' '  Then  I  have  been  ill  for  a  long  while. ' ' 

"Some  little  while,"  she  said,  "but  you  are  better 
now ;  I  have  been  so  frightened  that  you  would  never  get 
well  any  more." 


74  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

' '  But  that  would  not  matter  to  you. ' ' 

Aline  laughed, — ' '  Why  then  I  should  have  had  all  my 
trouble  for  nothing." 

"But  it  would  have  been  simpler  to  have  taken  no 
trouble  at  all." 

' '  Simpler,  but  how  dull ;  do  you  know  this  is  the  most 
exciting  thing  that  has  ever  happened  to  me?" 

' '  A  poor  kind  of  excitement, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  why,  you  are 
looking  very  ill  yourself ;  do  not  people  notice  it  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  they  say,  'You  are  a  little  scarecrow.'  " 

"Who  say?" 

' '  Mistress  Mowbray,  she  has  come  home  again  to-day. ' ' 

"I  did  not  know  that  she  had  gone  away,  but  is  that 
all  that  she  says ;  does  she  not  suggest  doing  anything  ? ' ' 

"Marry  no,  she  only  said,  'Child,  you  have  been  eat- 
ing too  many  good  things  while  I  am  away ;  you  must  not 
get  ill ;  I  have  a  great  deal  of  work  for  you  to  do.  To- 
morrow you  have  to  work  hard  after  all  this  time  of 
idleness. '  Now  you  must  not  talk  any  more ;  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  hear  you  talk  properly  at  all,  and  it  would  be 
foolish  to  let  you  make  yourself  ill  again." 

He  wanted  her  to  go  on;  but  again  he  saw  that  firm 
determined  look  in  her  manner  that  he  had  noticed  be- 
fore and  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  try  and  move 
her.  "Well,  little  princess,"  he  said,  "if  those  are  your 
commands  I  suppose  that  they  must  be  obeyed." 

' '  Certainly,  sirrah,  it  is  time  that  you  went  to  sleep. ' ' 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  children  that  Menstrie's  ill- 
ness took  a  turn  for  the  better  when  it  did,  for  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  them  to  give  him  much  time 
after  Mistress  Mowbray 's  return.  But  it  was  clear  that 


THE  PRISONER  75 

it  would  be  a  long  time  before  he  would  be  able  to  get 
about. 

They  both  came  in  on  the  following  night  and  found 
that  while  there  was  no  doubt  about  the  improvement,  he 
was  miserably  weak  and  ill.  Aline  tried  to  prevent  him 
from  talking,  but  he  was  anxious  to  hear  how  things  had 
gone  with  them.  "Well,  what  have  you  been  doing  all 
day  ? "  he  said. 

"We  have  been  hemming  great  holland  sheets,"  said 
Aline. 

"Well,  that  is  not  very  exciting,"  he  said. 

' '  More  exciting  perhaps  than  you  think, ' '  said  Audry. 
' '  Mother  was  very  cross,  and  Aline  certainly  had  an  ex- 
citing time." 

' '  Hush,  Audry, ' '  said  Aline  very  softly. 

"I  shall  not  hush,  Aline.  I  wish  that  mother  would 
not  act  like  that  to  you.  Do  you  know,"  she  went  on, 
"that  whenever  Aline  made  the  stitches  just  the  least 
little  bit  too  big  or  turned  down  the  hem  the  least  bit 
too  much  or  too  little,  she  hit  her.  Aline,  if  I  were  you 
I  would  not  stand  it ;  I  would  tell  my  father. ' ' 

Ian  half  rose  in  his  bed  with  anger  and  then  fell  back 
again.  "There  you  see  what  you  have  done,"  said 
Aline,  as  Ian  went  as  white  as  the  sheet.  It  was  some 
moments  before  he  was  able  to  speak  and  the  children 
watched  him  anxiously. 

"What  a  shame,"  he  went  on,  in  calmer  tones. 

"Well,  we  won't  talk  about  that  now,"  said  Aline; 
"let  us  talk  of  something  nicer.  Master  Mowbray  is  go- 
ing to  give  me  a  falcon  and  I  am  going  to  ride  like 
Audry." 


76 

"I  thought  that  I  heard  you  say  that  you  did  not  care 
about  riding,  little  one,"  he  said. 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  do  particularly,  but  Master 
Mowbray  wished  it  for  the  sake  of  Audry.  I  do  not 
think  he  cared  about  me  one  way  or  the  other.  I 
thought  that  it  might  help  us  in  several  ways  in  feeding 
you." 

' '  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  quite  see  that, ' '  he  said. 

' '  Well,  for  one  thing,  the  falcon  would  have  to  be  fed 
and  sometimes  there  would  be  things  that  I  could  give 
to  you  and  I  could  get  other  things  for  the  falcon  in- 
stead. I  do  not  like  taking  things  from  the  house,  and 
that  is  why  I  have  tried  as  far  as  possible  to  snare  you 
rabbits  or  catch  fish  in  the  river.  So  far  we  have  done 
very  well,  but  it  is  meal  or  bread  that  is  the  chief  diffi- 
culty." 

"And  do  you  think  the  falcon  or  the  horse  is  going 
to  get  the  bread?"  he  asked  playfully. 

"If  you  were  not  ill,"  she  said,  shaking  her  little  hand 
at  him,  "I  would  punish  you." 

He  caught  the  hand  and  kissed  it.  "Well,  never 
mind,  but  I  do  not  see  how  either  the  horse  or  the  falcon 
is  going  to  help  you." 

"It  is  this  way.  If  we  go  riding  it  will  be  a  reason 
for  going  expeditions,  and  then  we  can  make  it  an  excuse 
to  buy  food.  If  I  were  to  go  and  buy  food  round  about 
here,  there  would  be  all  manner  of  questions  asked  at 
once. ' ' 

"But,  child,  you  have  not  any  money,  and  if  you  had 
it  would  not  be  right  to  spend  it  on  me." 

"But  I  have  some;  I  have  five  pounds  Scots  that  my 
father  gave  me  long  ago  that  I  have  been  keeping  in  a 


THE  PRISONER  77 

safe  place,  and  I  have  six  florins  that  have  been  given  me 
by  other  people." 

"You  never  told  me  that  you  were  so  rich,"  said  Au- 
dry.  "Why,  think  what  you  could  buy  for  all  that!" 

' '  Can  you  get  down  my  jerkin,  Audry  ? ' '  asked  Ian, — 
' '  Thank  you !  See  if  you  can  find  in  the  inner  pocket 
a  leathern  purse? — That's  right,  now  in  that  you  will 
find  ten  gold  rose  angels.  Take  out  two  of  them  and  let 
me  know  all  that  is  spent  on  my  account.  I  would  not 
hear  of  you  spending  money  on  me. ' ' 

Aline  demurred,  but  Menstrie  would  brook  no  opposi- 
tion. So  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  take  the 
money.  After  the  children  had  gone  Ian  began  to  con- 
sider his  new  responsibilities.  He  already  began  to  feel 
that  Aline  was  in  some  way  his  special  care.  He  had  a 
peculiar  power  of  seeing  both  sides  of  things  and  real- 
ised that  there  was  always  something  to  be  said  for  each. 
But  this  never  paralysed  his  action  as  it  does  with  many. 
He  remembered  the  Athenian  view  of  the  sin  of  neutral- 
ity and  that  the  first  duty  is  to  make  up  one's  mind. 

In  action  he  was  usually  able  to  find  a  line  not  neu- 
tral, that  is  to  say  neither,  but  one  that  stood  firmly 
and  decisively  for  something  even  beyond  the  best  of 
both  and  this  he  would  carry  through  at  all  costs.  He 
found  this  all  the  easier  as  his  personality,  his  resolution 
and  clear  explanations  made  him  a  born  leader  and  he 
generally  compelled  others  to  take  his  higher  point  of 
view.  But  this  could  not  always  be  the  case  and  then 
he  would  take  the  side  that  on  the  whole  was  the  better. 
He  had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  protestant  party,  not 
by  any  means  because  he  entirely  agreed  with  them, — 
he  often  told  them  they  were  no  better  than  those  they 


78  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

opposed, — but  he  definitely  saw  more  prospect  of  prog- 
ress in  that  direction.  He  had  an  iron  will,  that  is  abso- 
lute self-control  and  the  determined  capacity  that  no 
difficulties,  no  obstacles  and  no  suffering  could  cause  to 
swerve.  He  was  entirely  free  from  the  weakness  of 
obstinacy,  or  of  pleasing  himself. 

In  more  personal  matters  it  was  the  same.  At  the 
present  there  were  the  claims  of  his  country,  the  claims 
of  his  faith  and  the  claims  of  this  child.  He  loved  chil- 
dren and  nothing  stirred  him  so  much  as  to  see  a  child 
illtreated. 

How  were  these  claims  to  be  met?  After  all,  were 
they  so  conflicting?  The  only  real  problem  was  that 
Aline  was  in  England,  while  his  other  duties  lay  in  Scot- 
land. Clearly  he  must  get  her  to  Scotland.  In  whose 
charge  to  place  her,  he  could  arrange  later.  That  much 
then  was  settled. 

As  he  thought  this,  he  distinctly  heard  a  voice  say, — 
"No,  it  is  not."  He  looked  behind,  but  saw  no  one. 
The  voice  continued, — "She  will  become  a  heretic  and 
then  .  .  .  ?" 

"Who  is  there?"  he  cried,  sitting  up  in  bed.  There 
was  silence  and  he  heard  no  more,  only  he  fancied  he  saw 
Wishart  again  in  the  fire  and  Aline  was  along  with  him. 
"I  am  overwrought,"  he  muttered;  "that  is  impossible 
anyway,  as  poor  "Wishart  died  long  ago.  No,  Aline, ' '  he 
went  on,  "as  long  as  my  life  can  stay  it,  such  shall  never 
be, — never.  Where  there's  a  will,  there's  a  way." 

He  leaned  back  exhausted  and  soon  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep.  He  remembered  nothing  when  he  woke,  but 
found  the  sheet  torn  to  shreds,  as  though  he  had  fought 
some  malign  enemy. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   THIEF 

NOT  many  days  after,  Aline  went  down  to  Pe- 
ter's cottage.     Joan  had  again  had  a  relapse 
and  the  physician  had  paid  one  or  two  visits. 
For  the  moment  she  was  better  and  sitting  up  in  bed. 

Aline  had  brought  some  beautiful  roses  whose  fra- 
grance filled  the  whole  place.  Joan 's  eyes  quite  sparkled 
with  pleasure. 

' '  Oh,  Mistress  Aline,  how  lovely ! ' ' 

"I  said  you  were  to  call  me  Aline,  just  as  I  call  you 
Joan, ' '  and  Aline  kissed  the  little  thin  hand  that  seemed 
almost  transparent.  "Now  you  must  soon  get  well  and 
be  able  to  come  and  play  games  again;  and  see  what  I 
brought  you  to  wear  when  you  can  run  about. ' ' 

Aline 's  own  wardrobe  was  very  scanty,  but  one  day 
Master  Richard  had  brought  back  from  York  a  piece  of 
good  camlet  which  he  had  given  to  Aline  as  a  special 
present.  "May  I  do  just  what  I  like  with  it?"  she  had 
asked.  "Of  course,"  he  replied.  So  Aline  had  coaxed 
Elspeth  to  help  her,  and,  with  much  excitement,  had 
made  Joan  an  attractive  little  gown.  Aline  was  rather 
at  a  loss  for  some  trimming  that  she  wanted  and  Audry 
had  found  her  one  day  taking  some  off  one  of  her  own 
garments.  She  had  expostulated  but  Aline  had  only 
said, — "Oh,  it  looks  all  right;  I  have  left  some  on  the 
upper  part.  I  do  not  mind  plain  things." 

79 


80  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Joan's  gratitude  was  too  great  for  words;  she  could 
only  gently  squeeze  Aline 's  hand. 

As  Aline  sat  by  the  bedside  the  door  opened  and  a 
dark  bent  figure  appeared  against  the  light. 

"Good-day,  Peter,"  she  said,  and  catching  sight  of 
Aline  she  added,  "and  good-day  to  you,  Mistress." 

Moll  had  once  been  a  fairly  tall  woman,  but  like  Peter 
was  now  bent,  although  not  to  so  great  an  extent  and  was 
never  seen  without  her  stick.  Her  face,  wrinkled  and 
worn  as  it  was,  more  from  evil  living  than  from  actual 
age,  as  she  was  not  really  very  old,  still  had  some  trace 
of  its  original  beauty,  but  there  was  a  cruelty  and  cun- 
ning in  its  expression  that  defied  description.  All  the 
children  were  frightened  of  "Moll  o'  the  graves"  and 
would  flee  at  her  approach. 

"You  have  a  sick  bairn  here,  Peter,"  she  began,  ig- 
noring Aline,  "and  I  have  been  wondering  whether  I 
could  not  help  you." 

Peter  looked  as  if  the  last  thing  in  the  world  that  he 
desired  was  old  Moll's  help. 

"You  have  something  laid  by  under  this  stone,"  she 
went  on,  tapping  the  hearth  with  her  stick  as  she  spoke ; 
and  Peter's  eyes  seemed  as  if  they  would  drop  out  of  his 
head. 

"Ah,  you  need  not  think  to  keep  anything  from  me," 
said  the  old  crone;  and  suddenly  turning  round,  she 
pointed  her  stick  at  Aline,  "nor  you,  young  Mistress,  you 
have  your  secret  that  you  wish  no  one  to  know,"  she 
added  vindictively. 

It  might  have  been  merely  a  bow  drawn  at  a  venture, 
yet  Aline  felt  absolutely  terrified  of  the  old  woman  and 
meditated  running  from  the  house,  but  the  thought  of 


THE  THIEF  81 

Joan  held  her  back.  "No,  and  you  need  not  think  you 
can  get  away  either,"  said  Moll,  as  though  reading  her 
thoughts.  "You  are  by  yourself  this  time,"  and  she 
interposed  her  gaunt  figure  between  Aline  and  the  door. 

"Come,  Peter,"  she  said,  "what  will  you  be  giving 
me,  or  shall  I  lay  a  murrain  on  your  sheep  ? ' ' 

"  I  '11  give  you  three  silver  crowns. ' ' 

' '  Ha !  ha !  ha ! — three  silver  crowns  for  a  child 's  life, ' ' 
and,  dropping  her  stick  and  holding  out  her  skinny 
hands  like  the  claws  of  some  obscene  bird,  she  began 
slowly  to  shuffle  over  the  floor  toward  Peter,  who  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot  quaking  in  mortal  fear. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  old  hag  drew  toward  him, 
scraping  her  bare  shrivelled  feet  over  the  floor. 

Peter  sank  on  his  knees  and  crossed  himself.  "God's 
blood,"  he  said,  "I  will  give  you  what  you  ask." 

"Then  give  me  twenty  crowns,"  she  said,  and  waving 
her  arms  over  the  fire  the  flames  turned  blue  and  shot 
up  as  though  to  lick  her  hands. 

She  then  opened  a  small  pouch  at  her  girdle  and  tak- 
ing a  pinch  from  it  threw  it  on  the  fire  and  a  thick  cloud 
of  white  smoke  ascended  and  filled  the  room  with  a 
pungent  odour  and  then  circled  round  the  room  in  fan- 
tastic shapes. 

"In  the  smoke,  in  the  clouds,  I  see  the  future  writ," 
she  said;  "I  see  three  children  and  their  fates  are  in- 
tertwined. Ah,  the  first  passeth,  the  second  passeth,  the 
third  remaineth.  I  see  a  great  treasure.  I  see  trouble. 
I  see  joy  and  a  great  darkness. ' '  Then  turning  to  Peter 
she  said :  ' '  Keep  your  crowns  this  time ;  I  can  do  noth- 
ing; the  child  must  go,"  and  she  laughed  a  low  cruel 
laugh, — "and  your  fate,"  she  said,  turning  to  Aline 


82 

with  a  diabolic  grin,  "is  like  unto  hers;  but  your  path 
is  through  the  fire ;  yet  there  is  joy  and  prosperity  after 
strange  days  for  your  little  friend  up  at  the  Hall." 
She  laughed  again,  a  blood  curdling  fiendish  chuckle, 
and  grasping  her  staff  she  hobbled  to  the  door  and  was 
gone  so  swiftly  that  they  could  hardly  believe  their  eyes. 

Poor  little  Joan  had  fallen  back  senseless  and  it  was 
some  time  before  Aline  could  bring  her  round.  Was  the 
old  harridan  deliberately  trying  to  frighten  the  child  to 
death  or  could  she  really  in  some  way  foretell  the  future  * 

The  effect  in  any  case  was  extraordinary  and  Aline 
had  to  pull  herself  together  before  she  felt  equal  to  the 
walk  home. 

"What  does  she  mean  by  my  path  is  through  the 
fire?"  she  asked  Audry,  when  she  met  her  in  the  court- 
yard. 

' '  Don 't  think  about  it,  don 't  talk  about  it.  Aline,  you 
terrify  me." 

"I  do  hope  she  has  not  done  Joan  any  serious  harm 
anyway,"  said  Aline.  "But  come,  we  must  get  ready 
for  supper." 

Late  in  the  evening  as  the  family  was  seated  in  the 
great  hall  and  the  servants  had  retired,  just  as  the  chil- 
dren were  going  to  bed,  Richard  Mowbray  came  in  from 
going  round  the  house  as  his  custom  was  to  see  if  every- 
thing was  all  right.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  irritable 
mood  and  Mistress  Mowbray  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter. 

"Matter,  Eleanor,"  he  said,  "you  know  very  well  I 
am  worrying  about  that  cup.  It's  the  third  thing  that 
has  disappeared  this  month  and  I  seem  to  be  no  nearer 
finding  out  than  we  were  before.  I  am  fairly  certain 


THE  THIEF  83 

too  that  money  has  gone  the  same  way.  Beshrew  me  but 
I  would  give  a  goodly  sum  to  find  the  knave." 

"I  think  you  might  keep  your  discussions  for  another 
time, ' '  said  his  wife  icily,  glancing  at  Aline  as  she  spoke ; 
"we  do  not  want  our  affairs  discussed  by  every 
stranger." 

"There  are  no  strangers  here,  woman,"  he  said. 
"The  child  is  a  Mowbray  which  is  more  than  you  are 
yourself;  her  great  grandmother  was  my  grandfather's 
only  sister.  Old  James  Mowbray  who  built  this  house 
loved  her  more  than  his  son  and  if  the  old  man  had  had 
his  way,  it  is  likely  enough  that  the  lassie  would  be  the 
Mistress  of  Holwick.  "Woman,  you  are  too  jealous. 
The  child  shall  always  have  a  roof  to  her  head  as  long 
as  I  am  Master  of  Holwick. ' ' 

Master  Mowbray  was  not  particularly  fond  of  Aline, 
although  he  was  beginning  to  fall  under  her  spell,  but 
he  had  a  sort  of  rough  sense  of  justice,  which  was  quite 
inexplicable  to  his  wife ;  a  trait  of  his  character  that  had 
descended  in  a  marked  degree  to  his  little  daughter. 

"Anyway  it  is  time  for  the  children  to  go  to  bed," 
said  Mistress  Mowbray.  "Run  along,  both  of  you,  and, 
mind  you,  not  a  word  of  what  you  heard  just  now." 

The  children  went  upstairs  and  naturally  could  not 
help  discussing  between  themselves  what  Richard  Mow- 
bray had  been  saying.  "I  should  like  to  help  Master 
Mowbray,"  said  Aline.  "It  seemed  to  upset  him  very 
much. ' ' 

"We  wanted  some  excitement,  Aline,"  said  Audry, 
4 '  and  now  we  seem  to  have  more  than  enough,  what  with 
a  heretic  and  a  thief.  I  wonder  what  Father  would  do 
for  us  if  we  could  find  the  thief  for  him. ' ' 


84  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Consequently  for  the  next  few  days  the  children  were 
on  the  alert  to  see  if  they  could  discover  anything. 
When  they  went  down  to  visit  Ian  they  told  him  the 
story  and  the  three  discussed  it  together. 

"Anyway  it  does  not  matter  telling  you,"  said  Aline 
to  Ian,  ' '  because  you  are  not  a  real  person. ' ' 

' '  And  why  am  I  not  a  real  person,  pray  ? ' '  said  Ian. 

' '  Oh,  you  do  not  belong  to  the  world  at  all ;  you  never 
see  anybody  and  live  down  here;  you  are  only  a  sort  of 
figure  in  our  dream, ' '  said  Aline  playfully. 

"That's  rather  a  shadowy  kind  of  existence,"  he 
said,  ' '  but  it 's  nice  to  be  dreamed  into  existence  by  such 
delightful  people." 

"Look  here,  you  two,"  said  Audry,  "talk  a  little  com- 
mon sense.  What  are  we  going  to  do  about  this  thief  ? ' ' 

' '  I  think  it  must  be  some  one  in  the  house, ' '  Aline  re- 
marked. "I  do  not  think  any  one  could  get  over  the 
moat. ' ' 

"People  like  this  lady  would  think  nothing  of  swim- 
ming the  moat, ' '  said  Ian. 

"People  like  this  lady  would  not  do  anything  of  the 
kind,"  said  Aline;  "they  could  not  even  get  out  of  the 
water  on  the  inner  side  at  all,  as  it  is  a  perfectly  straight 
wall  all  round,  and  even  if  they  did,  they  would  go  drip, 
drip,  drip,  wherever  they  went  and  we  have  seen  nothing 
like  that." 

"They  could  take  off  their  clothes,"  objected  Audry. 

"Yes,  and  if  they  were  disturbed,"  Aline  continued, 
"and  had  to  escape  in  a  hurry,  I  suppose  they  would  not 
think  they  looked  a  little  conspicuous  and  suspicious, 
eh?" 

"Where  is  the  silver  kept?"  asked  Ian. 


THE  THIEF  85 

"Most  of  it,"  said  Audry,  "is  kept  in  the  treasury, 
the  little  room  near  the  gateway  where  the  secret  passage 
goes.  I  expect  that  is  partly  the  reason  for  the  passage ; 
so  that  if  the  owner  ever  had  to  flee  from  the  house  in 
time  of  danger,  he  would  come  back  and  get  his  valua- 
bles without  risk ;  but  what  an  opportunity  a  thief  would 
have  who  knew  of  the  passage ! ' ' 

Aline  knit  her  brows  and  thought  for  some  time. 
Menstrie,  who  was  very  clever  with  his  chalk,  was  mak- 
ing sketches  of  her.  "What  a  very  thoughtful  lady!" 
he  said. 

"Oh,  is  not  that  beautiful?"  exclaimed  Audry.  "It 
is  as  beautiful  as  you  are,  Aline  dear.  Where  did  you 
learn  about  drawing,  Master  Menstrie?" 

It  was  a  charming  little  head  with  bold  free  lines  and 
full  of  expression,  very  like  an  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

"Oh,  when  I  was  in  Florence  and  Venice,"  said  Ian; 
"it  was  a  great  time  for  me  and  I  learned  many  things 
that  it  would  have  been  almost  impossible  to  learn  over 
here.  I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  to  know  both  Paolo 
Veronese  and  Tintoretto  as  they  called  him,  but  I  like  the 
Florentine  work  better  still.  I  often  think  I  might  have 
been  an  artist,  but  I  have  too  many  other  responsibili- 
ties." 

Aline  looked  up  at  this  point.  "Yes,  that  is  wonder- 
ful. Father  was  very  fond  of  drawing  and  had  several 
friends  who  were  artists.  There  was  Master  Lindsay, 
who  did  a  beautiful  portrait  of  mother,  but  do  you  know 
I  do  not  believe  he  could  have  drawn  as  well  as  that ;  it 
is  so  bold  and  free  and  yet  sensitive  and  delicate  in  its 
details.  His  work  was  much  more  cramped  and  over- 
elaborated.  No, ' '  she  said,  holding  the  drawing  at  arm 's 


86  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

length,  "I  am  sure  he  could  not  have  done  it  nearly  so 
well." 

"Well,  never  mind  about  the  drawing,"  said  Men- 
strie;  "what  were  you  thinking  about?" 

"I  was  thinking  that  the  theft  could  not  very  well 
have  taken  place  at  night.  If  it  had,  probably  many 
more  things  would  have  gone.  But  some  one  may  have 
slipped  into  the  little  room  for  a  moment  when  the  old 
seneschal's  back  was  turned.  We  might  go  along  and 
find  out  when  Edward  is  there,  whether  we  can  hear  and 
know  what  goes  on  from  the  secret  passage." 

"It  is  just  about  now  that  Edward  fetches  the  silver," 
said  Audry. 

"Come  along  then." 

So  the  two  children  jumped  up  and  ran  to  the  door. 
"Good-bye,"  said  Aline,  waving  her  hand,  "wish  us 
luck." 

Ian  watched  them  go  and  then  fell  into  a  reverie. 
What  a  strange  thing  it  was  that  chance  should  have 
brought  him  to  Holwick!  He  looked  at  the  drawing 
which  was  still  on  his  knee.  "Leonardo  would  have 
given  something  to  draw  her  head,"  he  mused.  "But 
neither  he  nor  Raphael  could  have  done  it  justice.  Yes, 
she  is  like  her,  very  like,  and  yet  more  beautiful.  Who 
could  have  believed  that  any  one  could  be  more  beauti- 
ful? This  child's  father  must  have  been  handsome  as 
she  says.  I  wonder  in  what  way  I  am  to  be  of  service 
to  her.  It's  a  pity  that  she  is  of  the  old  faith.  Some- 
how I  feel  that  that  is  going  to  be  a  difficulty.  I  should 
find  it  very  hard  to  get  any  assistance  if  it  were  needed. 
The  other  side  would  not  look  at  me  and  my  side  would 
not  look  at  her.  I  wonder  if  they  would  even  help  me 


THE  THIEF  87 

myself,"  he  pondered.  "I  do  not  hold  with  most  of 
them  by  any  means.  I  fancy  that  child's  father  would 
have  been  more  to  my  liking.  How  narrow  and  unkind 
they  all  are.  Think  of  a  Catholic  like  Sir  Thomas  More, 
a  very  saint  of  a  man,  coming  to  the  block.  Will  noth- 
ing ever  soften  men's  hearts?  John  Knox  is  all  very 
well,  but  he's  dour.  No,  John,  my  friend,  Plato  was 
quite  right;  if  you  do  not  understand  beauty  you  will 
have  to  serve  a  little  apprenticeship  before  St.  Peter  will 
open  the  gates.  Harmony  not  strife, — the  Beauty  of 
Holiness, — think  of  it,  Master  John,  think  of  it!  With 
what  humility  and  yet  with  what  ecstasy  we  shall  wor- 
ship in  that  presence. 

"Ah,  child,"  he  went  on,  "you  are  indeed  the  handi- 
work of  God  and,  as  Plato  says,  I  do  pass  through  you 
to  something  more." 

As  he  spoke  the  vision  of  the  child  seemed  to  shape 
itself  before  his  eyes.  Her  little  feet  were  bare  as  when 
he  saw  her  first  and  she  was  stretching  out  her  beautiful 
arms  toward  him.  Her  face  shone  with  a  strange  light 
and  then  gradually  he  felt  himself  lifted  up  and  the 
vision  changed,  becoming  more  ethereal  and  more  beau- 
tiful, till  his  heart  stood  still.  It  was  no  longer  a  child, 
it  was  no  longer  even  human  beauty  at  all.  It  was  alto- 
gether transcendent. 

He  rose  slowly  and  then  knelt  down.  ' '  Now  I  know, ' ' 
he  said,  "this  is  the  heart's  adoration,  this  is  worship. 
I  never  knew  before. ' '  He  bowed  down  utterly  humbled 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  exalted  and  a  voice  seemed  to 
say, — ' '  I  am  that  I  am. ' '  He  felt  as  one  who  is  purified 
as  in  a  fire  and  then  gradually  a  sense  of  peace  stole  over 
him. 


88  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

He  knelt  there  in  a  rapture  for  a  long  time  until  at 
length  the  vision  faded  slowly  away.  But  he  realised 
that  in  some  strange  fashion  new  strength  had  been 
given  to  him  and  that  the  temptations  of  life  were 
shrinking  into  littleness. 

Meanwhile  Aline  and  Audry  made  their  way  along  the 
passage.  It  was  daylight  so  they  felt  that  their  light 
would  not  be  seen.  When  they  got  to  the  end  they 
could  hear  perfectly  and  even  see  a  little  bit  through  a 
tiny  crack.  They  saw  Edward,  the  seneschal,  come  in 
and  take  out  the  great  salt  and  the  nef  and  then  he  care- 
fully fastened  the  door.  After  a  while  he  came  back 
and  fetched  some  of  the  other  things. 

When  the  children  returned  to  Ian,  they  both  ex- 
claimed,— "Oh,  you  are  looking  so  much  better." 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak;  he  was  watching 
Aline  as  she  unconsciously  glided  down  the  room  with  a 
sort  of  dancing  step,  humming  a  tune  and  slowly  waving 
her  arms.  She  seemed  filled  with  a  new  sacredness,  a 
new  unapproachable  otherworldliness ;  it  was  an  apothe- 
osis of  childhood. 

"Well,  you  have  come  back  to  me,"  he  said  at  length. 
"What  did  you  discover?" 

"Not  a  great  deal,"  Aline  answered,  "but  we  can  see 
through  a  chink  and  we  may  some  day  see  the  thief 
himself." 

"I  am  afraid  that  we  shall  never  catch  him,"  said 
Audry,  "and  what  is  the  use  of  troubling  about  it? 
The  thing  is  gone  now  and  what  is  done  is  done. ' ' 

"No,  it  might  come  back,"  protested  Aline,  "and  I 
shall  not  give  up  hope  yet  awhile.  Come  along,  you 
have  got  to  finish  that  piece  of  tapestry  and  it's  no  use 


THE  THIEF  89 

saying  what  is  done  is  done,  because  what  is  done  is  no 
use,  unless  you  do  some  more." 

Both  laughed  and  ran  out. 

They  worked  at  the  tapestry  in  the  solar.  Mistress 
Mowbray  was  there  engaged  in  the  same  occupation. 
By  and  by  her  husband  came  in.  "I  suppose  you  have 
found  out  nothing  about  that  cup,"  she  remarked. 

"No,"  said  Master  Richard,  "and  meseemeth  I  am  not 
likely  to  do  so.  Edward  is  confident  that  it  cannot  have 
been  taken  from  the  treasury. ' ' 

"Humph!  He  may  say  so.  Look  you  now,  Richard, 
if  I  were  you  I  should  get  rid  of  Edward.  Turn  him 
out  of  doors." 

"Do  you  think  that  Edward  has  taken  it?"  said  her 
husband,  looking  surprised. 

"Why,  who  else  could  have  taken  it?  It's  as  clear  as 
daylight.  I  cannot  see  wherefore  you  hesitate." 

Richard  Mowbray  gazed  steadily  in  front  of  him  for 
a  long  time,  stroking  his  pointed  beard.  "Yes,  I  think 
it  must  be  so ;  I  shall  do  as  you  suggest.  Edward  shall 
leave. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  Edward  did  not  do  it,"  said  Audry  im- 
pulsively. 

"Nonsense,  wench,"  said  her  father,  "what  do  you 
know  about  it?" 

"Oh,  well,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,  but  it's  hard 
on  the  old  man  if  he  did  not  do  it,"  Audry  replied. 
"Come  along,  Aline;  I'm  tired  of  this  tapestry;  we've 
done  enough.  I  want  you  to  read  to  me.  May  we  go, 
mother?" 

"Yes,  yes,  run  away,  both  of  you";  and,  lest  Audry 's 
remark  should  have  had  any  effect,  she  added,  to  her  hus- 


90  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

band; — "It  will  be  an  excellent  plan  in  many  ways. 
Edward  is  getting  past  his  work  in  any  case.  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  have  some  one  else." 

"Certainly,  Eleanor,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

Audry  had  run  on.  Aline  had  risen  and  stood  irreso- 
lutely looking  at  the  Master  of  Holwick.  "But,  Cousin 
Richard,  you  will  wait  a  bit,  won 't  you  ? ' '  she  said  coax- 
ingly. 

"Why,  child?" 

"Because  it  might  not  be  Edward,  and,  probable  as 
it  seems,  you  cannot  be  certain. ' '  She  rose  and  put  her 
arm  round  him  and  in  her  most  bewitching  way  added, 
— "You  will  think  it  over,  won't  you?  I  know  I  am 
only  a  little  girl,  but  what  would  you  think,  Cousin 
Richard,  if  afterwards  it  turned  out  that  you  were 
wrong?" 

"Aline,"  shouted  Mistress  Mowbray,  "I  will  not  have 
you  interfering.  Edward  shall  leave  at  once.  We  can- 
not have  a  thief  in  the  house." 

"It  isn't  just,  Mistress  Mowbray.  You  do  not  know 
that  he  is  a  thief ;  you  have  no  proof. ' ' 

"Wench,  I  can  dismiss  my  servants  when  I  please, 
thieves  or  not  thieves." 

In  addition  to  the  claims  of  justice  Aline  felt  a  definite 
feeling  of  antagonism  rising  in  her,  a  touch  of  the  fight- 
ing instinct.  "Of  course  you  can  do  as  you  please," 
she  said,  "but  that  does  not  make  it  fair." 

"I  tell  you  Edward  shall  go;  he  is  getting  too  old  and 
that  is  enough  reason." 

"Richard,"  she  continued,  "am  I  mistress  of  this 
house  or  is  that  skelpie  ?  The  man  is  only  a  servant  and 
I  can  treat  him  as  I  like.  I  am  within  my  rights. ' ' 


THE  THIEF  91 

Aline  could  not  resist  going  on,  yet  she  hated  the 
whole  thing;  she  felt  that  her  attitude  was  unbecoming, 
if  not  impertinent;  but  she  could  not  let  Edward  go 
without  a  struggle,  nor  could  she  abandon  a  fight  which 
she  had  once  begun;  that  was  not  human  nature.  "You 
may  be  within  your  rights,"  she  said,  "and  he  may  be 
only  a  servant;  but  that  is  just  it; — if  you  belonged  to 
the  servant  class  yourself  that  sort  of  reason  might  be 
enough,  but  'noblesse  oblige'  as  father  used  to  tell  me. 
That  is  so,  is  it  not,  Cousin  Richard?  and  we  must  in- 
vestigate the  case  before  Edward  is  sent  away." 

Eleanor  Mowbray  flushed  crimson;  Aline  had  found 
the  weak  spot  in  her  armour.  The  vinter's  daughter 
was  not  a  lady,  but  the  one  thing  in  life  that  she  desired 
was  to  be  thought  one. 

"Yes,  child,"  said  Master  Richard,  for  the  remark  had 
touched  his  proper  pride.  "Yes,  keeping  within  his 
rights  is  good  enough  for  common  people.  But  gentle 
blood  demands  more  than  rights.  It  has  higher  stand- 
ards altogether.  It  is  a  matter  of  honour,  not  of  rights. 
Many  things  are  right  but  they  are  not  honourable. 
The  churl  does  not  know  the  meaning  of  honour.  By 
my  troth,  lassie,  you  remind  me  of  my  mother's  father, 
the  Duke  of  Morpeth,  who  used  to  say  that  aristocracy 
was  the  pride  of  humility,  the  pride  that  could  not  be 
demeaned  by  humbling  itself,  the  pride  that  could  not 
lower  itself  by  standing  on  its  rights.  Our  Lord,  he 
used  to  say,  was  the  noblest  knight  and  the  first  gentle- 
man of  chivalry.  Ah,  little  maid,"  he  went  on,  "you 
must  forgive  me  my  reminiscences ;  the  serious  things  of 
life  cannot  be  left  out." 

"No,  Cousin  Richard,  I'm  listening." 


92  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"I  remember,"  he  continued,  "how  he  used  to  quote 
'He  that  sweareth  to  his  own  hurt  and  changeth  not 
shall  never  be  moved, ' — '  qui  f acit  haec  non  movebitur  in 
aeternum.'  That  was  his  illustration  of  the  principle 
in  practice;  the  vulgar  man  sticks  to  his  bargain  or  his 
promise ;  the  gentleman  goes  entirely  beyond  his  promise 
and  does  what  is  expected  of  him,  whether  he  had  given 
his  word  or  not.  The  vulgar  man  tries  to  wriggle  out  of 
an  engagement  if  it  does  not  suit  him;  the  gentleman 
stands  to  the  most  trivial  engagement,  even  if  there  is  no 
formal  promise,  though  it  may  cost  him  much  sacrifice. 
Honour  compels  him,  'noblesse  oblige.'  The  man  of 
poor  blood  has  no  honour ;  he  merely  has  honesty  and  he 
thinks  the  gentleman  is  a  fool.  He  has  not  climbed 
high  enough  to  see. 

"You  are  right,  little  one;  there  would  be  nothing 
wrong  in  dismissing  Edward;  we  have  no  promise,  no 
contract:  we  may  even  act  to  our  own  hurt  by  keeping 
him,  if  he  really  should  be  the  thief,  but  honour  demands 
it.  The  matter  shall  be  thoroughly  investigated  before 
we  do  anything  with  Edward." 

Aline  having  gained  her  point  ran  away.  She  had 
not  intended  at  first  definitely  to  withstand  Mistress 
Mowbray.  However,  Master  Richard  had  agreed  with 
her  and  she  dismissed  the  matter  from  her  mind. 

Not  so  Mistress  Mowbray.  She  was  mortified  and  she 
was  not  going  to  forget  it.  Besides  the  child  had  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin  of  showing  that  she  was  a 
lady  and  making  it  equally  clear  that  she,  Eleanor  Mow- 
bray, belonged  to  a  lower  class.  Mistress  Mowbray  was 
learning  her  lesson. 

Day  after  day  the  children  used  to  go  at  the  proper 


THE  THIEF  93 

hour  and  once  or  twice  Edward  did  leave  the  door  un- 
locked for  a  few  moments;  but  they  never  saw  any  one 
come  in  and  finally  began  to  lose  heart  and  feel  that 
they  must  give  it  up  as  hopeless. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BITTERNESS 

IAN  was  alone  in  the  secret  room.  He  had  been 
busy  writing  and  a  great  pile  of  papers  lay  before 
him.  He  was  tired  and  felt  he  could  write  no 
more,  so  he  picked  up  some  sketches  he  had  made  of  the 
children.  They  would  often  come  down  and  sit  for  him 
and  he  had  gathered  quite  a  collection.  What  a  won- 
derful pair  they  were.  Audry  was  the  easier  to  draw. 
She  was  not  quite  so  tantalisingly  subtle  with  her  laugh- 
ing brown  eyes  and  roguish  lips.  The  face  was  clearly 
cut,  with  decided  character,  from  the  well  defined  brows 
and  the  strongly  marked  forms  about  the  eyes  down  to 
the  firm  determined  little  chin.  "Were  it  not  for  a 
.certain  pair  of  faces,"  he  said,  "that  haunt  me  day 
and  night  I  should  have  said  that  there  could  not  be 
anything  more  beautiful."  He  then  turned  to  the 
sketches  of  Aline  and  put  them  aside  one  by  one  im- 
patiently;— why  could  he  not  catch  the  elusive  swing 
of  those  graceful  poses?  It  was  no  use;  they  were  un- 
attainable. He  was  looking  discontentedly  at  a  sketch 
of  her  face  and  wondering  whether  any  one  could  ever 
draw  the  infinite  variation  in  the  finely  modelled  form 
of  Aline 's  mobile  lips,  when  Audry  came  in. 

He  put  the  drawing  down  by  the  papers  on  the  table. 

"Writing  again,"  said  Audry;  "you  are  always  writ- 
ing.    I  cannot  think  what  it  is  all  for." 

94 


BITTERNESS  95 

"One  must  be  doing  something,"  he  answered. 

She  hardly  seemed  to  heed  his  reply.  "It  is  nice  to 
have  some  one  to  come  to, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  everything  is  all 
wrong  just  now." 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear?"  he  asked,  noticing  that 
the  child  had  been  crying. 

"Oh,  I  have  such  a  tale  to  tell  you  about  Aline. 
You  know  that  mother  thought  that  the  thief  was  Ed-' 
ward,  and  father  has  been  spending  ever  so  much  time 
and  trouble  over  it  and  has  practically  proved  that  it 
could  not  be  Edward;  because,  though  Edward  may 
have  taken  the  cup,  there  was  some  money  that  went  one 
day  when  Edward  was  away  from  Holwick.  So  mother 
must  needs  get  it  into  her  head  that  it  was  Aline." 

' '  How  utterly  ridiculous ! ' '  said  Ian. 

"Yes,  and  at  first  I  do  not  think  she  really  thought 
so;  it  was  only  because  she  does  not  like  Aline  and  is 
particularly  angry  with  her  just  now,  because  it  was 
Aline  who  was  the  cause  of  her  being  shown  up  as  wrong 

about  Edward;  and and,"  the  child  went  on  sobbing 

as  she  spoke, — "it  was  partly  my  fault.  Mother  knows 
I  love  Aline  and  I  was  rude  to  her  the  other  day  and 
she  knows  it  punishes  me  more  than  anything  else  for 
her  to  be  unkind  to  Aline";  and  here  Audry  quite 
broke  down. 

"Do  not  cry,  dear  child,"  said  Ian,  stroking  her  thick 
brown  locks.  "Come,  tell  me  all  about  it  and  we'll 
make  a  nice  plan  to  put  things  right  for  Aline." 

Audry  and  her  mother  never  got  on  very  well  together. 
Both  were  headstrong  and  impulsive,  but  whereas 
Audry 's  nature  was  generous  and  kind,  the  lady  of  Hol- 
wick was  a  hard  selfish  woman.  She  loved  her  daughter 


96  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

in  her  selfish  way,  but  power  was  her  one  desire,  and 
she  wanted  entirely  to  dictate  the  course  of  her  life  for 
her;  and  even  in  the  things  of  little  importance  was 
apt  to  be  tyrannical.  Aline  had  become  a  cause  of 
much  contention  between  them,  and  Eleanor  Mowbray 
had  now  added  to  her  natural  dislike  of  Aline  a 
desire  to  spite  her  daughter  by  ill-treating  her  little 
friend. 

"Well,  you  know  that  Aline  is  in  the  habit  of  taking 
things  to  the  sick  people  round  about,"  Audry  went  on, 
when  her  grief  had  a  little  subsided,  "and  old  Elspeth 
generally  acts  as  almoner.  Mother,  however,  has  inter- 
fered lately,  and  has  said  that  she  will  not  allow  it 
without  her  permission  and  that,  she  will  hardly  ever 
give, — never,  for  the  people  that  Aline  most  cares  about. 
So  Aline  has  been  buying  things  with  her  own  money 
and  you  know  she  has  not  much." 

' '  No,  poor  child,  it  must  be  very  sad  for  her. ' ' 

"Indeed  it  is,  Master  Menstrie,  but  what  has  hap- 
pened is  sadder  still.  I  met  her  coming  back  from  the 
Arnsides  yesterday,  and  some  one  must  have  told  mother 
that  she  had  been  there;  for  mother  said  I  was  to  tell 
Aline  to  go  and  speak  to  her  directly  she  came  back.  I 
warned  her  how  angry  mother  was  and  Aline  asked  me 
what  it  was  all  about.  I  said  that  I  was  not  absolutely 
certain,  but  that  I  thought  it  was  because  she  imagined 
that  Aline  had  been  taking  things  from  the  Hall.  I 
went  with  her  to  see  mother,"  Audry  went  on,  "and  I 
never  saw  mother  so  furious,  and  you  know  how  angry 
she  can  be." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  do,"  said  Ian,  "I  have  never 
even  seen  her." 


BITTERNESS  97 

' '  Well,  anyway,  she  was  purple  with  wrath  and  would 
not  allow  Aline  to  say  a  word, — 'What  do  you  mean, 
you  dirty  little  thief,'  she  said,  'taking  things  that  do 
not  belong  to  you  and  giving  them  to  your  good-for- 
nothing  friends,  you  little  beggar-brat,  you?  Here  you 
are  living  on  charity  and  you  must  needs  steal  things 
from  under  our  very  noses.' 

"When  she  paused  to  take  breath,  Aline  told  her  that 
she  had  bought  the  things  with  her  own  money.  But 
that  only  made  mother  more  angry  than  ever.  'What, 
you  dare  to  lie  to  me,  money  indeed,  what  money  have 
you,  you  miserable  child  of  a  penniless  wastrel?  Your 
father  was  never  more  than  a  petty  laird  at  the  best 
and  he  had  not  even  the  sense  to  keep  the  little  he  had. 
If  you  have  any  money  we  all  know  where  you  got  it. 
No  wonder  you  were  so  certain  that  Edward  had  not 
taken  it,'  she  said  with  a  sneer. 

"Aline  drew  herself  up  in  that  stately  way  that  she 
has.  She  took  no  notice  of  what  mother  said  about  her 
being  a  thief,  but  answered; — 'My  father  was  a  gentle- 
man, your  father  did  not  bear  arms.  You  may  call  me 
what  you  like,  but  I  will  not  have  my  father  spoken  of 
like  that.'  " 

"Dear  little  princess,"  said  Ian. 

"Mother  nearly  choked  with  rage  and  almost 
screamed;  'You  insolent  hussie,  he  was  a  wretched  good 
for  nothing  ne  'er  do  weel,  or  he  would  not  have  left  you 
unprovided  for.' 

"Then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  saw  Aline  lose 
her  temper.  It  was  not  like  mother  at  all,  but  a  sort 
of  unnatural  calm.  She  turned  as  white  as  chalk  and 
said  very  slowly  and  softly,  almost  hissing  the  words ; — 


98  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

'Woman,  you  are  not  fit  to  have  cleaned  father's  shoon. 
Leave  the  dead  alone.' 

' '  Mother  rushed  at  her,  calling  her  thief  and  liar,  and 
I  tried  to  stop  her,  but  she  hit  me  and  sent  me  down 
full  length  upon  the  floor.  She  snatched  up  a  heavy 
riding  strop  and  beat  Aline  furiously  with  it.  I  im- 
plored her  to  stop  but  she  only  hit  out  at  me.  I  think 
she  was  out  of  her  mind  with  passion. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy.  I  try  to  love  mother  and  it 
is  so  difficult.  I  wish  that  I  had  never  been  born." 

Ian  did  his  best  to  comfort  the  child  and  after  a  time 
she  calmed  down  and  said  that  she  would  go  and  find 
Aline. 

When  she  had  gone  Ian  paced  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  room,  going  over  the  miserable  story  in  his  mind. 
Certainly  there  was  one  good  thing  in  his  not  escaping 
the  first  night  as  he  had  intended;  he  was  at  least  here 
to  try  and  make  plans  with  her  to  help  her,  but  how  was 
it  to  be  done?  The  more  he  thought  the  more  hopeless 
he  became.  Delighted,  as  he  knew  his  mother  would  be 
to  look  after  the  child,  he  knew  that  as  long  as  his  father 
lived  it  was  impossible ;  he  would  find  out  who  had  sent 
her  and  turn  her  out  of  the  house  or  worse  than  ever — 
and  Ian  felt  his  flesh  creep — his  father  might  think  that 
she  was  a  heretic  too  and  then.  .  .  .  Again  the  vision 
of  Aline  burning  in  the  flames  rose  vividly  and  distinctly 
before  him,  as  though  it  were  an  actual  sight.  Ian 
groaned  in  agony.  "O  Lord,"  he  cried,  "not  that,  not 
that ! ' '  He  was  nearly  beside  himself ;  but  as  the  vision 
passed  away  he  grew  calmer.  He  still  walked  rapidly 
to  and  fro,  however,  and  clenched  and  unclenched  his 
hands  till  the  nails  dug  into  the  flesh.  Here  was  this 


BITTERNESS  99 

sweet  child,  the  sweetest  thing  that  he  had  ever  seen  in 
his  life,  for  whom  he  was  ready  to  do  anything, — he 
was  perfectly  willing  to  suffer  all  things  for  her,  he 
was  willing  to  die  for  her  if  need  be,  not  only  to  save 
her  life,  but  even  to  make  her  happy,  if  he  could  make 
sure  of  it, — and  yet,  here  he  was,  absolutely  unable  to 
do  anything  at  all,  not  even  to  save  her  from  one  jealous 
woman.  It  was  pitiable,  it  was  almost  ludicrous;  he 
who  had  escaped  the  forces  of  the  inquisition  and  the 
united  endeavours  of  the  whole  countryside,  to  be  foiled 
in  this  way  by  one  woman. 

Then  he  clenched  his  teeth.  No.  There  must  be  a 
way  and  he  must  find  it :  ' '  And  if  there  is  not  one, ' '  he 
said,  bringing  his  fist  down  on  the  top  of  a  chair  with 
a  crash,  "I  will  make  one."  The  chair  broke  under 
the  blow.  ''Exactly  so,"  he  said;  "if  they  will  not 
yield  they  shall  break." 

After  a  time  Audry  returned  with  Aline.  The  child 
did  her  best  to  be  cheerful,  but  it  was  obviously  impos- 
sible; so  Ian  thought  that  it  would  be  best  for  her  to 
relieve  her  feelings  by  talking  about  it,  if  she  could  not 
put  the  subject  away  from  her  mind  altogether. 

' '  Everything  sad  seems  to  have  happened  all  at  once, ' ' 
she  said.  "Mistress  Mowbray  said  such  dreadful  things 
about  father  and  now  she  has  been  telling  every  one 
that  I  am  a  thief  and  poor  little  Joan  does  not  seem  able 
to  get  over  the  effects  of  Moll's  visit." 

"You  mustn't  pay  too  much  attention  to  what  mother 
says,"  Audry  said  softly.  "She  loses  her  temper  just 
as  I  do  and  I  do  not  think  that  she  really  meant  any- 
thing that  she  said  about  Captain  Gillespie.  It  was  only 
that  she  was  so  angry." 


100  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Well,  that  is  what  I  minded  most,  at  least  at  the  time. 
After  all,  poor  father  has  gone  and  it  does  not  really 
matter  to  him  now  what  she  says,  and  it  does  matter 
to  me  when  people  think  that  I  am  a  thief.  Every  one 
seemed  to  be  staring  at  me  as  I  passed  to-day. ' ' 

"I  think  that  must  be  mainly  your  imagination,  little 
one, ' '  said  Ian,  toying  with  a  tress  of  the  wonderful  hair. 
"No  one  who  really  knew  you  could  believe  it  for  a 
moment,  and  the  other  people  do  not  really  matter,  do 
they?" 

Aline  was  a  little  bit  consoled,  but  she  said  rather 
pitifully, — "All  the  same  I  wish  we  could  find  out  the 
thief."  Then  a  fresh  cloud  seemed  to  gather  and  she 
went  on;  "Do  you  think  that  'Moll  o'  the  graves'  really 
can  tell  the  future?  She  said  that  little  Joan  and  I 
were  going  to  die, — and  what  did  she  mean  when  she 
said  that  my  path  was  through  the  fire?" 

Ian  shivered  and  caught  his  breath  as  he  thought  of 
his  vision,  but  he  spoke  as  calmly  as  he  could.  "Oh, 
one  cannot  say;  I  am  afraid  that  the  awful  old  witch 
is  trying  to  frighten  the  child  to  death." 

"Yes,"  said  Audry,  "they  say  that  she  and  Joan's 
mother,  Sarah  Moulton,  had  a  terrible  quarrel  about 
something  and  many  people  think  that  it  was  old  Moll 
who  terrified  her  into  her  grave  and  that  she  wants  for 
some  reason  to  do  the  same  with  the  child." 

"The  best  thing,"  said  Ian,  "is  to  take  no  notice  of 
her.  We  must  not  give  way  to  superstition.  It  is  only 
by  allowing  her  to  frighten  us  that  she  can  really  do 
anything.  What  were  you  going  to  tell  us  about  Joan, 
Aline?" 

"Well,  she  just  seems  to  get  weaker  and  weaker.    I 


BITTERNESS  101 

met  Master  Barlow  to-day,  who  had  come  over  again 
from  Barnard  Castle  to  see  her  and  I  said,  'Of  a  truth, 
what  is  the  matter  with  Joan?'  and  he  replied,  'I  do 
not  know  what  is  wrong  with  her,  little  maid ;  but  I  fear 
she  has  no  chance  in  that  abode.'  ' 

"So  I  feared  greatly  and  asked  him  what  might  be 
done  and  I  told  him  what  Master  Richard  had  said  about 
sending  her  to  Barnard  Castle.  That,  he  said,  was  good, 
but  he  would  suggest  better.  He  knew  a  very  learned 
physician  in  Durham  and  also  a  good  woman  who  would 
house  the  child  if  Master  Mowbray  would  be  at  the  ex- 
pense of  sending  her,  it  being  a  far  cry,  nigh  upon  forty 
mile.  Yet  he  did  not  hold  out  much  hope  even  then." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  father  will  do  that,"  said  Audry, 
"and  then  you  will  see  little  Joan  coming  back  well  and 
strong.  Come,  what  you  want  is  a  run  in  the  fresh  air. ' ' 

"I  want  to  go  down  to  Janet  Arnside's  again,  so  I 
will  go  now." 

The  children  left  the  room  and  climbed  the  secret 
stair.  On  their  way  out  they  turned  along  beside  the 
moat,  which  always  had  a  certain  fascination  for  Aline. 
There  were  now  king-cups  and  bog  myrtle  growing  on 
the  outer  bank,  where  the  part  of  the  wall  had  broken 
away,  and  sheltered  from  the  wind  on  the  south  side, 
water  lilies  were  floating  in  the  dark  water.  It  was  a 
still,  lovely  day  and  the  beautiful  walls  and  windows  of 
the  old  Hall  were  perfectly  reflected  in  the  wide  expanse 
of  the  black  mirror,  where  also  could  be  seen  the  clear 
blue  of  the  sky  and  the  great  cumulus-clouds. 

"I  love  this  old  moat,"  said  Aline. 

' '  I  cannot  say  that  I  do ;  yet  I  am  unable  to  say  why, 
but  I  always  think  it  looks  cruel  and  I  feel  that  some- 


102  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

thing  terrible  might  happen  in  that  deep  water,  some 
unsolved  mystery,  I  do  not  know  what  it  is. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  see  what  you  mean,  but  at  the  same  time  it 
looks  kindly  and  protecting  as  it  goes  round  the  house; 
it  might  be  cruel,  but  somehow  I  feel  too  that  it  might 
be  kind." 

"Well,  I  must  go  and  darn  my  hose,"  said  Audry, 
"and  you  said  you  wanted  to  go  down  and  see  Janet 
Arnside  and  her  boy." 

Audry  picked  up  a  large  stone  as  she  went,  and  threw 
it  into  the  water ;  it  fell  with  a  heavy  sullen  splash  and 
the  sound  echoed  back  from  the  walls.  Aline  stood  a 
moment  and  watched  the  widening  rings  till  they 
gradually  died  away,  and  then  turned  down  toward  the 
hamlet. 


THE  HALL  FROM  N.  W. 
SHOWING  PELE-TOWER 
GRANARY  AND  LEDGE 


CHAPTER  VII 

DEATH 

JANET  ARNSIDE  was  a  widow  and  lived  in  a  small 
cottage  not  far  from  the  Hall.  She  had  a  son  who 
had  been  very  ill ;  and  Aline  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  coaxing  Elspeth  to  get  her  small  delicacies  to  take 
round  to  them  as  they  were  very  poor,  or  she  would  buy 
things  with  her  own  money. 

When  she  reached  the  cottage  the  old  woman  came 
forward  and  seized  her  by  both  hands.  "Bless  your 
bonnie  face,"  she  said,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"How  is  John  getting  on?"  said  Aline. 

"Oh,  he's  quite  a  new  creature,  thanks  to  all  you 
have  done  for  us,  my  dear.  When  I  see  him  swinging 
along  with  great  strides  I  say  to  myself, — now  if  it  had 
not  been  for  our  little  St.  Aline  where  would  my  boy 
have  been?" 

"Oh,  you  must  not  thank  me,  Janet,  and  I  really  do 
not  like  you  to  call  me  that,  you  must  thank  Elspeth 
and  Master  Mowbray. " 

"Ay,  true,  hinnie,  the  Master  has  been  very  good 
and  has  always  said  that  we  were  welcome  to  a  few 
things,  but,  there  now,  when  I  asked  Mistress  Mowbray, 
she  said  that  she  had  something  else  to  think  of  than 
attend  to  any  gaberlunzie  body  that  came  round  the 
doors.  And  where  should  I  have  been  with  my  laddie 

104 


DEATH  105 

if  it  had  not  been  for  you  with  your  sweet  face  and  your 
kind  heart?" 

Even  Janet  Arnside  realised  that  Aline 's  was  no 
ordinary  beauty  as  she  watched  the  lightfooted  grace- 
ful child  moving  round  her  room  and  setting  things 
straight,  or  helping  her  to  cook  for  her  sick  boy,  or  sit- 
ting, as  she  was  then,  with  the  sunshine  coming  through 
the  open  door  and  throwing  up  the  outline  of  her  beau- 
tiful form  against  the  dark  shadows  within  the  cottage. 

"Ah,  but  Mistress  Mowbray  is  very  busy,  Janet,  she 
has  a  great  deal  to  manage  in  that  huge  place.  It  is 
Elspeth,  dear  old  Elspeth,  who  looks  after  all  the  sick 
folk  and  you  should  try  and  go  up  and  thank  her,  now 
that  your  son  is  better  and  you  are  able  to  leave  him." 

"Ay,  Mistress  Aline,  that  should  she,"  said  a  voice 
from  the  door  as  John  entered,  "but  it  is  our  little  mis- 
tress here  that  should  be  getting  most  of  the  thanks,  I 
trow."  The  boy  pushed  back  the  little  window  shutter 
as  he  spoke  that  he  might  the  better  see  the  child.  She 
was  for  him  his  conception  of  the  heavenly  angels  and 
during  his  long  illness  he  used  in  his  delirium  to  confuse 
her  with  the  messengers  from  above  who  were  to  take 
him  to  the  other  land.  He  had  been  ill  for  a  weary  while 
and  had  had  more  than  one  relapse  but  she  had  been  a 
constant  visitor  when  opportunity  allowed,  and  had 
often  soothed  him  to  sleep  when  even  his  mother  could  do 
nothing.  He  worshipped  Aline  in  a  curious  half- 
fatherly  way,  although  he  was  only  some  four  years 
her  senior,  and  the  dream  of  his  life  at  that  time  was  to 
be  of  assistance  to  her  some  day. 

Aline  was  just  on  the  point  of  going  when  they  heard 
rough  angry  voices  passing  along  the  road,  so  she  shrank 


106  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

back  into  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  cottage; — "I  tell 
you  what  it  is,"  one  of  the  voices  was  saying,  "if  you 
do  not  help  me  I  '11  see  that  you  never  forget  it. ' ' 

"Now,  there  you  are  again,"  the  other  voice  replied, 
"you  never  can  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head." 

"Why  that  is  Andrew  Woolridge  and  Thomas  Car- 
luke,"  Aline  exclaimed.  "What  are  they  doing  down 
here?" 

Andrew  and  Thomas  were  two  of  the  men  from  the 
Hall  and  Aline  knew  that  at  this  time  of  day  they  ought 
to  be  at  work. 

"They  are  up  to  no  good  I'll  be  bound,"  said  Janet. 

"Andrew  Woolridge  seems  to  be  doing  a  good  thing 
for  himself  somehow,  mother, ' '  said  John.  "I  wonder 
where  he  got  all  that  meal  he  has  been  bringing  home 
from  the  mill  lately;  I  saw  him  with  a  boll  early  this 
morn  and  he  brought  two  bolls  yesterday  and  two  the 
day  before." 

"Ay,  John,  and  I  saw  him  the  day  before  that  with 
a  boll." 

"He  must  have  enough  for  the  winter  and  some  to 
sell  too,  if  he  has  been  going  on  at  that  rate,  mother." 

"Ay,  that  must  be,  but  I  should  not  like  to  be  the 
one  to  ask  him  where  he  got  the  oats  he  has  been  so  busy 
carrying  to  the  mill." 

"  It  is  time  I  was  going, ' '  said  Aline,  and  bidding  them 
good-bye,  she  turned  homeward,  pondering  on  her  way 
what  she  had  heard. 

"I  fancy  that  the  oats  will  come  from  Holwick,"  she 
thought  to  herself.  "I  wonder  if  he  is  still  taking 
them,"  and  she  resolved  that  she  would  herself  keep  an 
eye  on  Andrew  and  Thomas. 


DEATH  107 

She  had  not  long  to  wait.  That  very  evening  she 
managed  to  slip  out  near  the  granary  at  dusk  when  the 
outside  servants  went  home.  Thomas  slept  in  the  hall, 
but  she  saw  him  going  to  the  gate  and  talking  to  Andrew 
very  quietly. 

The  moat  ran  round  the  east  side  of  the  Hall,  but 
there  was  a  narrow  ledge  of  stone  at  the  foot  of  the 
wall  on  that  side,  some  eight  feet  above  the  water, 
which  went  from  the  northeast  corner  where  the  granary 
was,  as  far  as  the  drawbridge.  It  was  possible  to 
climb  on  to  it  from  the  drawbridge  and  walk  along 
it  with  some  difficulty.  What  purpose  it  was  intended 
to  serve  was  not  clear.  The  drawbridge  was  never 
drawn  up  till  the  last  of  the  servants  had  departed. 
Andrew  went  outside,  but  dark  as  it  was,  Aline  without 
coming  near,  saw  that  apparently  he  did  not  cross  the 
bridge.  Thomas  ran  back  and  made  his  way  to  the 
granary.  Aline  followed,  her  heart  beating  violently, 
and  saw  him  produce  a  key  and  unlock  the  granary 
door.  She  waited  a  moment  wondering  which  would  be 
the  best  thing  to  do  and  then  decided  to  go  back  to  the 
drawbridge.  She  turned  round  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  the  dark  figure  of  Andrew  emerge  from  the  left 
and  cross  the  bridge  with  a  heavy  bundle  on  his  shoulder 
and  vanish  into  the  night.  It  was  all  very  quietly  man- 
aged, he  had  evidently  crept  along  the  high  ledge,  and 
as  Aline  passed  through  the  archway  to  the  upper  quad- 
rangle she  heard  Thomas  behind  her  breathing  heavily, 
but  she  did  not  look  round. 

At  first  she  thought  that  she  would  go  and  tell  Master 
Mowbray  at  once,  but  then  she  hesitated.  In  those  days 
it  might  be  a  hanging  matter  for  Andrew  and  she  also 


108  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

had  some  scruples  about  playing  the  part  of  an  eaves- 
dropper. She  finally  decided  that  she  would  speak  to 
Andrew  herself,  but  was  very  nervous  about  it;  as  An- 
drew was  a  great  big  man  and  from  what  she  knew  of 
him  and  from  the  way  she  had  heard  him  speak  to 
Thomas  on  the  previous  night,  she  guessed  that  he  would 
stop  at  nothing. 

She  watched  for  him  the  next  day,  but  no  opportunity 
presented  itself.  He  was  always  with  the  other  serv- 
ants. But  late  in  the  evening  she  saw  him  in  the  quad- 
rangle evidently  waiting  for  Thomas.  She  was  shaking 
with  excitement  and  the  darkness  added  to  her  nervous- 
ness, but  she  approached  him  and  said  in  as  steady  a 
voice  as  she  could  muster,  "Andrew,  I  want  to  speak 
to  you.  It  is  something  very  serious;  there  has  been 
grain  taken  from  the  granary." 

"What  of  that?"  he  replied,  determined  to  brazen 
it  out. 

.  Aline  had  hoped  that  her  point  blank  assertion  would 
have  made  him  confess  at  once  and  the  way  would  have 
been  easier  for  her;  it  was  very  difficult  to  go  on  with 
this  great  burly  bullying  ruffian  scowling  at  her.  How- 
ever, her  mind  was  made  up  and  she  had  to  go  through 
with  it.  "I  know  who  has  taken  it,"  she  said  firmly, 
"and  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  not  take 
any  more  and  that  also  you  will  replace  as  much  as  you 
have  taken  away." 

"Oh,  do  you,  my  fine  young  lady?  You  are  not  the 
mistress  of  this  Hall,  not  by  a  long  way,  I  reckon.  Who 
are  you  indeed?  A  penniless  Scot  that  no  one  would 
listen  to.  I  should  like  to  see  you  go  with  your  tales 
to  Mistress  Mowbray.  She  'd  soon  turn  you  upside  down 


DEATH  109 

and  spoil  that  pretty  skin  of  yours,"  he  growled 
coarsely. 

' '  But  I  shall  find  it  my  duty  to  tell  Master  Mowbray, ' ' 
said  Aline. 

"Oh,  that  is  the  way  the  land  lies,  you  miserable 
tell-tale,  is  it?" 

Aline  felt  herself  blush,  as  the  retort  stung,  but  she 
knew  she  was  right,  and  she  only  said,  ' '  But  I  should  not 
tell  any  one  if  you  would  give  back  the  grain." 

''Would  you  not?"  he  said  fiercely;  ''well,  I'll  see 
you  never  get  the  chance,  you  little  she-devil."  As  he 
spoke  he  stepped  forward  and  placed  his  great  hand  over 
her  mouth  and  lifting  her  up  as  though  she  were  a  mere 
nothing,  he  ran  with  her  to  the  gate  and  on  to  the  middle 
of  the  drawbridge.  "No  one  will  miss  you  in  this  house, 
you  blethering  babe,  and  they  will  just  think  that  you 
have  somehow  fallen  in,  playing  round  in  the  dark. 
Mistress  Mowbray  would  give  me  a  month's  pay,  if  I 
dared  ask  for  it,  you  wretched  brat." 

She  was  absolutely  powerless  in  his  strong  arms  and 
he  raised  her  above  his  head  and  flung  her  into  the  moat. 
She  struck  the  side  of  the  bridge  as  she  fell  and  then 
dropped  into  the  dark  water.  Andrew  did  not  wait,  but 
ran  some  way  into  the  gloom  of  the  night  and  then  stood 
to  listen  whether  any  hue  and  cry  was  raised.  Not  a 
sound  was  to  be  heard  and  after  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  he  dimly  could  distinguish  his  fellow  servants 
walking  home.  Obviously  they  were  unconscious  that 
anything  unusual  had  happened  and  he  was  able  to 
breathe  freely  as  he  muttered  to  himself,  ' '  That  was  well 
done,  she  will  tell  no  tales  now."  He  crept  back  to  the 
moat  and  peered  in.  All  was  still  and  black  and  the 


110  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

moat  gave  no  sign  of  the  horrible  deed  that  had  just 
taken  place  in  its  waters.  Hardened  wretch  that  he  was, 
he  could  not  help  a  shudder  as  he  thought  of  what  lay 
under  that  inky  surface. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

REMORSE 

ANDREW  argued  with  himself  as  he  walked 
homeward.  No  one  could  suspect  him.  No 
one?  Wait!  There  was  one.  What  about 
Thomas?  Thomas  was  not  a  man  to  be  trusted.  At 
any  moment  he  might  find  it  to  his  own  interests  to 
tell  what  he  knew.  Andrew  began  to  be  afraid.  "I 
was  a  fool,"  he  said,  "after  all.  I  must  escape,  escape 
at  once;  I  will  not  go  home." 

He  was  not  very  clear  in  what  direction  to  go.  His 
original  home  was  near  Carlisle,  but  for  that  reason  he 
avoided  it.  He  would  go  south,  he  would  make  his  way 
over  the  hills  to  Brough  and  Kirkby  Stephen  and  then 
strike  for  Lancaster. 

He  had  plenty  of  money  and  was  able  to  secure  horses 
at  Brough  so  that  he  actually  got  as  far  as  Lancaster 
the  next  night.  Here  he  thought  he  might  escape  notice 
and  right  thankful  was  he  to  get  to  his  bed. 

But  he  could  not  sleep.  He  was  overtired  and  turned 
restlessly  from  side  to  side,  now  drawing  up  his  feet, 
now  stretching  them  out.  As  he  lay  there  the  thought 
of  the  black,  glistening,  silent  moat  returned  to  him. 
"Meddlesome  brat,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "you  got 
what  you  deserved."  The  thought,  however,  would  not 
depart  but  kept  returning  to  him,  and  his  imagination 
would  dwell  upon  something  dark  floating  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  water.  "The  fiends  of  hell  get  hold  of 

111 


112  THE  CHILD  OP  THE  MOAT 

thee,"  he  uttered  aloud  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  sitting  up 
in  bed. 

As  he  sat  up  he  heard  a  noise  as  of  some  one  at  his 
door.  "Could  any  one  be  listening?"  He  rose  softly 
and  listened  himself  on  the  inner  side.  No,  there  was 
surely  nothing.  He  cautiously  opened  the  door  and 
peered  out  into  the  shadowy  passage.  As  he  did  so  the 
door  was  drawn  sharply  from  his  hand  and  closed.  For 
a  moment  he  dared  not  move,  but  stood  trembling,  wait- 
ing, expectant.  He  heard  a  distant  horse  on  the  cobble 
stones,  then  absolute  silence  save  the  low  wailing  whistle 
of  a  gust  of  wind.  It  seemed  to  bring  back  Aline 's 
little  white  terrified  face  as  she  tried  to  cry  out  when 
he  held  her  in  his  grip  with  his  hand  over  her  mouth. 
The  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  his  forehead  and  then  sud- 
denly the  tension  relaxed, — "The  wind,  the  wind;  it  was 
the  wind  that  had  blown  the  door  out  of  his  hand." 

He  shivered  and  got  back  into  bed.  Again  he  heard 
horses'  hoofs;  this  time  they  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
they  were  surely  coming  to  the  inn.  Yes,  they  had  stood 
still  at  the  door.  He  leaped  up  and  frantically  slipped 
on  his  clothes,  while  they  were  knocking  for  admission. 
Should  he  try  and  escape  down  the  stairs  or  through 
the  window,  down  into  the  yard  of  the  hostel  ?  He  went 
to  the  other  window  and  peeped  out.  It  was  a  man  and 
a  woman, — probably  an  eloping  couple!  He  laughed  a 
thin  mirthless  laugh  and  once  more  got  back  into  bed. 

This  time  he  slept  and  dreamed  that  he  was  looking 
out  of  the  window  into  the  hostel  yard.  Gradually  it 
filled  with  dark  water  nearly  level  with  the  sill.  Then 
he  saw  something  on  the  other  side,  floating  on  the  sur- 
face. It  seemed  to  be  coming  his  way.  Slowly  it 


REMORSE  113 

rose; — it  was  Aline,  her  arms  hanging  limply  from  the 
shoulders  and  the  head  falling  over  to  one  side,  with  the 
mouth  open  and  a  great  gash  above  the  forehead.  It 
came  nearer  still.  He  tried  to  get  away  from  the  win- 
dow, but  something  held  him.  He  strove  and  struggled 
in  vain.  "Oh,  that  terrible  mouth,  that  blood  in  the 
long  wet  hair."  Then  the  figure  lifted  a  hand  and 
pointed  at  him.  In  another  moment  she  would  touch 
him.  "Maria!  God!"  he  shrieked,  but  slowly  it  came 
closer  and  closer.  He  shut  his  eyes;  there  was  a  great 
shock  and  he  woke.  He  was  lying  on  the  floor  with  his 
heart  beating  violently  and  a  pain  in  the  back  of  his  head. 

He  did  not  dare  to  go  back  to  bed  this  time;  to  sleep 
was  worse  than  to  be  awake.  He  sat  down  on  the  bed 
and  held  his  throbbing  brow  between  his  hands  while 
his  elbows  rested  on  his  knees;  but  gradually  fatigue 
overcame  him  and  he  fell  asleep  again.  This  time  he 
found  himself  standing  among  a  crowd  of  other  persons 
with  lanthorns  by  the  side  of  the  moat  at  Holwick.  A 
little  figure  was  being  drawn  up  from  the  water.  He 
saw  it  carried  in  over  the  drawbridge,  where  the  old 
arms  of  the  Mowbrays  looked  down, — argent,  a  cross 
engrailed  azure ;  *  but  he  dared  not  follow.  He  seemed 
to  stand  there  waiting  for  days  and  days.  "Would  no 
one  ever  come  out  ? ' '  Then  the  funeral  cortege  appeared 
from  under  the  same  gateway.  He  followed  with  the 
crowd,  no  one  seemed  to  see  him,  and  there,  in  the 
ancient  churchyard  of  Middleton,  he  saw  the  little  coffin 
lowered  into  the  ground. 

When  every  one  had  gone  he  still  stood  by  the  grave, 
dazed  and  wondering.  He  was  just  about  to  leave,  when 

*  I.e.,  the  field  of  the  shield  silver  or  white,  the  cross  blue 
with  an  irregular  border. 


114  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

a  child's  figure  in  the  crowd  turned  back.  It  was 
Audry.  She  came  slowly  up  to  him  and  looked  from 
him  to  the  grave  and  from  the  grave  to  him.  Her  face 
was  filled  with  unutterable  reproach.  "You,"  she  said, 
and  lifted  her  finger  at  him  and  was  gone. 

He  tried  to  run  after  her,  but  it  was  like  running  in 
heavy  clay;  his  feet  were  as  lead  and  he  seemed  to  slip 
back  a  pace  for  every  step  he  took  forward.  Finally 
he  abandoned  the  attempt  and,  putting  his  hands  over 
his  face,  he  wept  bitterly. 

He  was  still  weeping  when  he  woke.  ' '  Holy  Mother, ' ' 
he  cried,  "why  did  I  do  it?"  The  thought  of  the  frail 
child  bravely  withstanding  him  in  the  courtyard  of  Hoi- 
wick  came  back  to  him, — "little  St.  Aline,"  as  the  vil- 
lagers called  her.  Oh !  how  could  he  have  done  such 
a  deed?  "I  am  lost,  damned,  and  nothing  I  may  do  can 
ever  bring  her  back.  Cain !  Cain !  unclean,  branded  and 
accurst ! ' ' 

It  was  morning  now,  should  he  go  back  and  give  him- 
self up?  Give  himself  up  and  be  hanged!  Surely  it 
were  better  to  slay  himself  with  his  own  hands  than  do 
that!  But  the  love  of  life  is  strong.  Though  he  were 
dead,  she  would  not  come  to  life  again;  the  only  thing 
that  seemed  to  offer  any  interest  or  hope  was  that  some 
day  he  might  be  able  to  serve  little  Mistress  Audry, 
Aline 's  playmate,  Aline 's  friend,  all  that  was  left  to 
represent  the  sweet  child. 

So  he  rose  and  ate  a  few  mouthfuls,  by  way  of  break- 
fast, and  mounted  his  horse,  intending  to  make  his  way 
to  London.  But  the  agony  of  his  remorse  would  hardly 
allow  him  to  sit  his  steed  and,  as  he  looked  at  the  bright 
sunshine,  he  shuddered  and  cursed  it  in  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  JUDGMENT 

WHILE  Andrew  was  starting  over  the  hills  in 
the  darkness,  the  family  had  gathered  in  the 
hall.  Master  Mowbray  had  seen  that  the 
drawbridge  was  raised  and  that  everything  was  safe 
for  the  night.  Audry  soon  wondered  what  had  become 
of  Aline  and  after  a  time  made  an  excuse  to  get  away 
and  went  up  to  their  room  and  down  to  the  secret  cham- 
ber. "Is  not  Aline  here?"  she  queried. 

"No,"  said  Ian,  "she  has  not  been  down  for  a  long 
time." 

Ian  came  towards  Audry  as  she  spoke.  "Why?  can- 
not you  find  her?"  he  said. 

"No,  she  is  not  in  the  hall  and  not  in  our  room." 

"Perhaps  old  Elspeth  knows." 

"I  had  forgotten  her  for  the  moment,"  and  Audry 's 
face  brightened  up.  "I  will  run  and  find  her."  This 
she  did  at  once  but  Aline  had  not  been  seen. 

At  length  Audry  felt  that  she  must  tell  the  others. 
So  she  came  back  to  the  great  hall  and  told  Master  Mow- 
bray  that  Aline  had  disappeared. 

' '  'Sdeath,  "he  exclaimed,  ' '  what  has  happened  to 
her;  call  the  men  at  once,  run,  Audry." 

"Oddsfish  man,"  said  Mistress  Mowbray,  "one  would 

think  the  child  was  an  infant  that  could  not  take  care 

115 


116  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

of  itself, — making  such  a  fuss  as  that!  And  I  do  not 
see  that  it  would  be  so  very  great  a  matter  if  she  were 
lost.  Why,  you  make  as  much  a  to-do  about  her  as 
though  she  were  your  own  daughter.  The  hussie  is  up 
to  mischief  and  she  will  see  that  she  does  herself  no 
harm. ' ' 

Master  Mowbray  did  not  wait  for  all  this,  but  left 
his  wife  talking  to  the  empty  air.  The  first  thing  was 
to  rouse  all  the  servants  and  every  room  inside  was 
speedily  examined,  but  with  no  result.  ' '  She  must  have 
gone  out  before  the  gate  was  shut,"  suggested  Audry, 
' '  but  that  is  a  very  unusual  thing.  She  might  have  gone 
to  speak  with  one  of  the  servants  and  crossed  the  bridge 
just  before  it  was  closed.  But  even  if  she  had  walked 
a  little  way  and  not  heard  them  close  the  gate,  she  would 
have  rung  the  great  bell.  Surely  she  would  not  be  too 
frightened. ' ' 

To  be  out  after  the  drawbridge  was  raised  was  a  very 
serious  fault  as  every  one  in  the  Hall  knew  full  well, 
and  many  a  servant  had  rather  run  the  risk  of  staying 
out  all  night  than  incur  the  wrath  and  penalties  that 
would  follow  such  an  offence. 

"I  hope  the  child  has  not  come  back  and  walked  into 
the  moat,"  said  Master  Mowbray.  "It  is  a  terribly 
dark  night.  Come  this  way, ' '  he  added  in  a  husky  voice. 
In  his  rough  way  he  was  fonder  of  her  than  he  would 
have  admitted  even  to  himself,  and  her  spell  was  increas- 
ing its  hold  upon  him. 

They  went  to  the  gate  and  the  drawbridge  was  in- 
stantly lowered.  They  then  crossed  the  bridge  and  di- 
vided into  two  parties,  taking  their  lanthorns  to  the 
right  and  left. 


THE  JUDGMENT  117 

Audry  accompanied  her  father  to  the  left  and  they 
had  not  gone  ten  paces  before  they  came  upon  Aline 's 
little  form  lying  in  a  broken  piece  of  the  moat-wall,  half 
in  and  half  out  of  the  water.  It  was  easy  to  get  down 
to  the  water  in  many  places  on  the  outer  side  although 
impossible  on  the  inner  side.  Master  Mowbray  stepped 
down  and  picked  up  the  slight  figure  and  carried  it  into 
the  hall. 

She  had  apparently  been  dead  for  some  time,  and 
Audry  broke  into  uncontrollable  weeping;  her  whole 
frame  shook  violently  and  it  almost  seemed  that  she 
would  choke  herself.  Every  one  stood  aghast.  Even 
Mistress  Mowbray  felt  something  of  the  atmosphere  of 
grief ;  she  was  the  only  one  sufficiently  unmoved  to  speak 
at  all,  but  she  said,  "Poor  little  lassie,  that  was  a  hard 
ending.  But,  Audry  dear,  you  must  try  and  control 
yourself,  you  will  make  yourself  seriously  ill." 

"I  do  not  mind  if  I  do,"  the  child  sobbed  in  reply. 
"Oh,  Aline,  darling  Aline,  do  not  leave  me,  I  cannot 
bear  it, ' '  and  she  flung  herself  on  to  the  small  still  form 
on  the  old  oak  settle  and  they  feared  her  heart  would 
break. 

By  this  time  every  one  was  weeping,  even  the  men- 
servants  and  Mistress  Mowbray  herself. 

But  as  Audry  passionately  pressed  the  cold  wet  fea- 
tures to  her  face,  she  suddenly  cried  out,  "She  is  not 
dead.  I  am  sure  she  is  not  dead,  I  am  sure  that  she 
still  breathes." 

There  was  a  fire  in  the  hall,  as  the  summer  was  get- 
ting on  and  the  evenings  were  chilly  up  in  the  moorland 
district.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  say,  a  bed  had 
been  made  up  by  the  fire  and  warmed  with  a  warming 


118  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

pan,  and  old  Elspeth  had  tenderly  undressed  the  child 
and  put  her  in  the  bed,  while  some  one  else  had  brought 
some  warm  milk.  Elspeth  was  bending  over  her  and 
lightly  rubbing  the  damp  hair,  half  crooning  to  herself, 
"My  bairnie,  my  bonnie  bairnie,  wake  up,  my  sweetest, 
wake  up  once  more."  Suddenly  Aline  opened  her  eyes 
and  looked  round  for  a  moment,  and  then  closed  them 
again.  She  gave  no  more  sign  that  night  and  it  was 
an  anxious  time;  but  hope  was  strong.  Hardly  any 
one  went  to  bed  but  Mistress  Mowbray.  Even  the  serv- 
ants for  the  most  part  wandered  about,  coming  every 
now  and  then  to  ask  if  there  was  any  news.  The  child 
was  a  favourite  with  nearly  all  of  them,  as  much  on  ac- 
count of  her  gentle  thoughtful  ways  as  on  account  of  her 
extreme  almost  supernatural  beauty.  Then  there  was 
that  strange  mysterious  power  that  seemed  to  hold  prac- 
tically every  one  with  whom  she  came  into  contact. 
There  were,  of  course,  one  or  two  who  felt  her  very  pres- 
ence was  a  sort  of  standing  reproach  and  who  disliked 
her  accordingly,  but  such  was  the  extraordinary  sweet- 
ness of  her  disposition  that  some,  even  in  this  class, 
found  themselves  coaxed  to  a  certain  extent  out  of  their 
worse  into  their  better  selves  against  their  will. 

In  the  morning  it  was  apparent  that  immediate 
danger  was  passed,  which  caused  Mistress  Mowbray  to 
exclaim, — "Drat  the  bairn  for  frightening  us  all  like 
that  without  any  reason.  How  stupid  of  her  to  fall 
into  the  moat." 

As  soon  as  Aline  was  able  to  talk  she  had  to  explain 
how  it  happened.  They  had  gently  moved  her  to  an- 
other room  and  Audry  and  Master  Mowbray  were  seated 
at  the  bedside.  She  had  told  them  of  what  she  had  seen 


THE  JUDGMENT  119 

and  how  Andrew  had  thrown  her  into  the  water.  "As 
I  fell,"  she  went  on,  "I  felt  my  head  strike  violently 
against  something.  I  luckily  did  not  become  uncon- 
scious at  once,  but  was  able  to  scramble  through  the 
water  to  the  bank.  I  remember  trying  to  get  into  a  sort 
of  hole  in  the  wall,  and  then  I  remember  no  more  till 
this  morning." 

' '  But  can  you  swim  ? ' '  said  Master  Mowbray  in  blank 
astonishment,  as  it  was  not  considered  a  little  girl's 
accomplishment. 

"A  little  bit,"  said  Aline,  not  too  anxious  to  draw 
attention  to  her  powers  in  this  direction;  as  after  the 
River  Tees  incident  she  felt  it  might  be  better  if  they 
did  not  know  what  she  was  capable  of  doing. 

"I  am  afraid,  sire,  that  the  man  is  likely  to  be  the 
same  that  took  your  silver  cup  and  other  things,"  she 
said,  "but  I  am  glad  that  I  have  not  had  my  wetting 
for  nothing,  and  that  you  will  be  able  to  stop  any  more 
corn  being  taken." 

Master  Mowbray  stooped  and  kissed  her.  He  did  not 
often  kiss  the  children,  not  even  Audry,  as  his  was  not 
a  demonstrative  nature.  "Poor  sweet  soul,"  he  said, 
"how  can  I  repay  you  for  what  you  have  done?" 

' '  Let  us  go  into  the  library  again, ' '  said  Aline  at  once. 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  he  said  hastily;  "however, 
we  must  do  something  better  than  that ;  but  for  the  pres- 
ent I  must  see  about  those  scoundrels,  Andrew  Wool- 
ridge  and  Thomas  Carluke." 

When  Thomas  heard  what  had  happened  on  his  ar- 
rival in  the  morning  he  cursed  the  fates,  saying  to  him- 
self, "Why  was  Andrew  such  a  fool  as  not  to  go  and  get 
a  long  rod  and  feel  all  around  that  moat-side.  She 


120  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

could  never  have  got  out  on  the  inner  side.  But  who 
would  have  known  that  the  skelpie  could  swim?"  and 
he  bit  his  lips  in  indignation.  "I  wonder  if  they  will 
suspect  me  ?  No,  Andrew  is  gone.  I  shall  be  safe ;  but 
curse  her,  curse  her  a  thousand  times." 

Andrew  had  not  even  dared  to  go  to  his  own  house  but 
had  slipped  away  over  the  hills  at  once;  consequently, 
when  they  sent  down  there,  nothing  was  known  of  him. 
News,  however,  soon  leaked  out  of  what  had  happened 
and  soon  the  whole  country-side  was  on  his  track,  with 
the  consequence  that,  before  three  days  were  spent,  he 
was  safely  lodged  in  what  was  known  as  the  lower  tower- 
room,  in  the  old  pele-tower  on  the  west  side  of  the  Hall. 

Master  Mowbray  was  determined  to  send  him  to  York 
to  stand  his  trial  as  soon  as  possible,  but  to  his  great 
surprise  he  met  with  opposition  from  a  very  unexpected 
quarter.  He  went  and  told  Aline  the  next  morning 
after  the  successful  capture  and  added  that  his  intention 
was  to  send  Andrew  to  York  on  the  following  day  but 
one,  expecting  that  the  news  would  give  her  satisfaction. 

Aline  did  not  seem  particularly  pleased;  but  Audry, 
who  was  there,  said,  "Oh,  I  am  glad  they  have  caught 
him ;  I  hope  he  will  soon  be  hanged. ' ' 

Aline  looked  up  rather  puzzled.  "Isn't  that  rather 
blood-thirsty?" 

"Oh,  no!  Aline,  dear  Aline,  if  he  had  succeeded! 
Oh!"  and  Audry  nearly  wept  at  the  bare  thought. 

"I  don't  know.  I  am  not  sure  that  people  should  be 
hanged." 

"Of  course  they  should  be  hanged,"  said  Master 
Richard. 

Aline    felt    a    certain    spirit    of    opposition    arising. 


THE  JUDGMENT  121 

"Certainly,"  she  thought,  "hanging  does  not  seem  to  be 
a  particularly  helpful  road  to  repentance."  Her  head 
ached  and  she  could  not  think  very  clearly;  but  of  a 
surety  if  once  she  let  the  man  be  hanged  it  would  be 
too  late  to  do  anything. 

The  others  watched  her  silently  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  to  Master  Mowbray 's  amazement  Aline  begged 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  that  he  would  let  Andrew  off  if 
he  would  confess  all  that  he  had  taken  and  restore  it  as 
far  as  possible,  and  promise  to  make  all  the  amends  that 
lay  in  his  power.  Master  Mowbray  at  first  absolutely 
refused ;  but,  at  last,  to  humour  the  child,  promised  that 
he  would  reconsider  the  question  on  the  following  day 
if  she  were  better. 

Aline  was  stronger  and  brighter  the  next  day  and 
when  Richard  Mowbray  came  in  to  see  her  she  renewed 
her  request, — "You  said,  sire,  yesterday,"  she  began, 
' '  that  you  would  like  to  do  something  better  for  me  than 
just  let  Audry  and  me  use  the  library  again,  so  I  want, 
please,  to  make  this  my  request, — that  you  will  not 
punish  Andrew  and  Thomas  if  they  show  that  they  are 
really  sorry." 

' '  Of  course,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  child,  I  shall  have 
to  do  what  you  ask,  as  far  as  is  possible."  He  sat  for 
a  few  moments  without  speaking,  and  then  added, — "I 
have  examined  into  the  matter  and  find  that  Thomas  did 
not  actually  steal  anything  himself,  nor  did  he  get  any- 
thing out  of  it ;  but  he  seems  to  be  a  poor  cowardly  sort 
of  fellow  whom  Andrew  used  as  a  tool.  I  might  let  him 
stay  on  in  the  house  if  you  greatly  wish  it,  but  I  really 
cannot,  even  if  we  pardon  Andrew,  have  him  any  longer 
at  the  Hall.  I  think  that  the  man  is  too  violent  to  be 


122  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

trusted.  He  does  not  really  belong  to  this  neighbour- 
hood at  all  and  it  might  be  possible  to  send  him  back 
to  Carlisle  whence  he  came.  That  is  about  all  that  I 
can  suggest.  There  is  a  cousin  of  mine  near  there  who 
might  keep  an  eye  on  him,  and  if  he  gives  sign  of 
trouble  this  could  still  be  kept  hanging  over  him.  But 
do  you  really  wish  it?  Do  you  understand,  child,  what 
you  are  doing?" 

"Yes,  I  really  would  like  it,"  she  said. 

"Then  I  shall  go  and  speak  to  the  men,"  said  Mow- 
bray,  and  departed. 

After  half  an  hour  he  came  back  again.  "Would  you 
mind  seeing  them  ? "  he  said.  ' '  I  think  it  would  be  good 
for  them.  I  have  told  them  what  you  asked  and  at 
first  they  hardly  seemed  to  believe  it.  Andrew  scarcely 
said  anything,  though  Thomas  was  profuse  in  his  grati- 
tude." 

"I  will  see  them  if  you  wish  it,  but  it  is  not  easy." 

He  looked  at  the  sad  little  figure  and  his  heart  smote 
him  and  yet  somehow  he  felt  that  it  was  the  right  thing 
to  do,  so  he  went  down  again  and  brought  up  the  men. 

Aline  was  propped  up  on  pillows;  she  looked  very 
weak,  but  the  wonderful  pearly,  almost  translucent, 
complexion  that  distinguished  her  had  for  the  moment 
recovered  its  usual  brilliancy.  Andrew  was  led  in  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  his  back;  he  looked  sullen  and 
sheepish,  whereas  Aline  had  seldom  looked  more  queenly 
in  spite  of  her  condition.  Thomas  was  not  bound  and 
looked  singularly  at  ease. 

"You  have  both  of  you  behaved  most  disgracefully," 
Master  Mowbray  said  in  a  judicial  tone;  "you  have 
meanly  taken  advantage  of  the  house  that  had  provided 


THE  JUDGMENT  123 

you  with  your  livelihood  and  one  of  you  has  committed  a 
crime  so  vile  that  it  is  not  for  me  to  find  words  in  which 
to  express  my  abhorrence.  If  I  were  doing  what  my 
real  judgment  tells  me  I  should  do,  you,  Thomas,  for 
your  part,  would  spend  a  long  time  in  York  Gaol,  and 
as  for  you,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Andrew,  ''the 
world  would  soon  be  rid  of  you  altogether.  However, 
Mistress  Aline  has  asked  me  to  give  you  both  another 
chance,  as  you  know;  but  I  wanted  you  first  to  see  the 
result  of  your  sin  and  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of 
thanking  her  for  what  you  do  not  deserve;  so  I  have 
brought  you  here.  Aline,  child,  tell  them  what  you  want 
them  to  do." 

It  was  a  very  difficult  task  for  the  small  invalid,  and 
Master  Mowbray  did  not  at  all  realise  what  he  was  de- 
manding from  the  sensitive  highly  strung  little  maiden. 
But  she  nerved  herself  for  the  task  and  tried  to  forget 
herself  and  everything  but  the  men  before  her. 

"Oh,  please,  Andrew,"  she  said,  "I  only  want  to  tell 
you  that  I  am  feeling  much  better.  I  shall  be  all  right 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  Master  Mowbray  says  that  you  are 
to  go  to  Carlisle,  where  you  used  to  live.  My  father 
once  took  me  to  Carlisle  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl 
and  it  is  a  fine  town,  much  bigger  than  Appleby.  You 
should  easily  find  work  there  and  you  will  not  forget, 
will  you,  to  send  Master  Mowbray  something  every 
month  to  replace  the  things  that  have  gone?  Master 
Mowbray's  cousin  will  let  us  know  how  you  are  getting 
on,  and  please,  sire,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Richard 
Mowbray  himself  and  then  looking  at  Andrew's  bonds 
but  not  mentioning  them,  "I  want  to  shake  hands  with 
Andrew  and  hope  that  he  will  be  happy." 


124  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

The  Master  of  Holwick  looked  at  her  rather  amazed 
and  then  untied  the  rope.  "You  will  promise  to  repay 
what  you  have  stolen,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  mumbled  Andrew  sulkily. 

"Now  say  how  grateful  you  are  to  her  and  how  sorry 
you  are  for  what  you  have  done." 

"Thank  you,  I'm  sorry." 

Aline  held  out  her  beautiful  little  hand  and  smiled 
sweetly  at  him.  Andrew  stiffly  responded  and  then  let 
his  arm  fall  to  his  side.  This  was  all  entirely  beyond 
his  comprehension ;  why  she  did  not  wish  him  hanged  he 
utterly  failed  to  grasp.  What  was  the  use  of  having 
one's  enemy  in  one's  hands  if  one  did  not  crush  him? 
"Certainly,"  he  thought,  "there  were  some  foolish  peo- 
ple who  were  generally  called  good,  who  did  not  behave 
in  that  way,  and  who  preached  to  one  about  one's  sins, 
but  this  child  said  nothing  about  his  sins  and  was  simply 
beyond  calculation  altogether." 

She  turned  to  Thomas  with  the  same  frank  smile  to 
take  his  hand,  "So  you  are  going  to  stay  with  us, 
Thomas ;  I  wonder  whether  you  would  be  kind  enough  to 
help  Mistress  Audry  to  look  after  my  falcon  while  I  am 
ill." 

' '  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  Mistress  Aline, ' '  he  replied,  ' '  I  shall 
never  forget  your  kindness  to  me.  May  the  Mother  of 
God  bless  you  for  what  you  have  done.  "We  are  all  of 
us  sinners  and  may  God  have  mercy  upon  me."  He 
kneeled  as  he  spoke  and  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips  and 
added,  "You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  always  be  ready 
to  serve  you  to  my  dying  day.  It  will  be  my  lasting 
honour  to  carry  out  your  least  wish." 

Thomas  congratulated  himself  on  having  escaped  so 


THE  JUDGMENT  125 

easily,  and  as  they  were  dismissed  and  were  crossing 
the  courtyard  he  said  to  Andrew, — "She  is  a  soft  one 
and  no  mistake."  Andrew  did  not  reply;  he  had  not 
recovered  his  senses.  She  must  be  a  fool,  he  thought, 
and  yet  she  made  him  look  a  pretty  fool,  too ;  he  was  not 
sure  for  the  moment  that  he  did  not  hate  her  more  than 
ever.  But,  as  he  came  to  think  it  over  in  after  years, 
the  scene  would  rise  before  his  eyes,  and  he  would  see 
that  fascinating  delicate  face  with  pain  written  all  over 
it,  and  hear  the  musical  voice  pleading, — "You  will  not 
forget,  will  you?" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT 

WHEN  the  men  had  gone  Aline  lay  thinking, 
dreaming,  building  castles  in  the  air.  What 
a  narrow  escape  she  had  had!  Life  seemed 
full  of  troubles  and  dangers.  Here  was  she  whose  life 
had  been  a  series  of  misfortunes  and  now  she  had  only 
just  escaped  death,  and  there  was  Ian,  whose  escape  had 
been  as  close  as  her  own  and  who  was  still  in  uncertainty 
and  peril.  He  not  only  had  misfortunes  but  was  in 
danger  all  the  time.  ' '  It  must  be  terrible  to  live  in  per- 
petual anxiety,"  she  thought.  "What  a  pity  Ian  is  a 
heretic,"  she  mused;  "it  means  that  he  is  never  safe 
anywhere  and  it  hinders  his  chances.  He  is  obviously 
very  clever  in  spite  of  his  humble  station.  Only  think, 
— if  he  had  not  been  a  heretic  he  might  have  become  a 
prince  of  the  church ;  after  all  the  great  Cardinal  Wol- 
sey  was  only  the  son  of  a  butcher  and  Ian  is  better  than 
that.  I  think  his  people  had  a  little  bit  of  land.  Why, 
some  of  these  yeomen  round  here  are  almost  like  gentle- 
men. Ah !  but  if  he  had  been  on  the  road  to  a  cardinal, 
I  should  never  have  seen  him  and  so  I  should  not  be 
interested  in  him  at  all. 

'•Now  I  wonder, — but  I  suppose  he  could  hardly  be 
as  clever  as  all  that;  but  why  should  he  not  become  a 

126 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  127 

great  doctor  in  a  university?"  and  Aline  drew  herself 
a  vivid  picture  of  Ian  as  a  sort  of  Abelard  gathering 
thousands  of  students  round  him  wherever  he  went. 
But  the  picture  was  spoiled  when  again  she  remembered 
that  his  heresy  would  stand  in  the  way.  "How  cruel 
they  were  to  Abelard,"  she  said,  "but  marry,  they  are 
worse  now,  and  that  was  cruel  enough." 

Then  her  thoughts  turned  from  Abelard  to  the  heart- 
rending picture  of  Heloise  and  her  love  for  him.  "She 
was  clever,  too, ' '  she  thought,  ' '  I  should  like  to  be  clever 
like  that.  Why  should  not  a  girl  be  clever?  The 
Lady  Jane  was  clever,  as  father  was  always  reminding 
me  and  then  they  chopped  off  her  head,  alas!  So  is 
the  Lady  Elizabeth's  Grace.  I  dare  say  the  Queen's 
Grace  will  have  her  sister's  head  cut  off,  too.  I  believe 
the  best  people  always  have  a  sad  time.  Poor,  poor 
Heloise!" 

"I  wonder,"  she  reflected,  "if  I  ever  could  love  like 
that,  with  absolute  entire  whole-hearted  devotion,  giv- 
ing up  everything  for  my  love, — my  friends,  my  hon- 
our, and  even  the  consolations  of  religion.  And  yet 
I  believe  that's  the  right  kind  of  love,  not  the  kind  that 
just  lets  other  people  love  you.  Well,  if  one  can't  be 
clever  or  love  or  do  anything  that  is  best  without  suffer- 
ing, then  I  think  I  would  choose  the  suffering.  But, 
oh  dear!  it  is  very  hard,  I  wonder  if  things  get  easier 
as  one  gets  older.  I  am  afraid  not.  Yet  fancy  having 
the  praise  of  one's  love  sung  by  all  the  world  hundreds 
of  years  after  one  was  dead !  That  must  have  been  a 
love  indeed.  Ah,  Heloise,  I  should  like  to  love  like  you 
when  I  grow  older.  Yes,  I  would  rather  be  Heloise 
with  all  her  sorrow  than  the  grand  ladies  who  marry 


128  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

for  wealth  or  position  or  passing  affection  and  do  not 
know  really  what  love  is  at  all. 

' '  Yes,  and  I  think  I  should  prefer  to  marry  some  one 
very  clever,  some  one  who  really  in  himself  was  superior 
to  other  men,  a  man  with  something  that  couldn't  be 
taken  away  like  riches  or  titles  or  outer  trappings  of  any 
kind.  Yes,  my  knight  must  be  clever  as  well  as  brave. 
I  should  like  some  one  like  father.  But  I  think  I  should 
like  him  to  be  great  and  wealthy,  too,  although  these 
other  things  are  best.  It  would  be  rather  nice  to  be 
allowed  to  wear  cloth  of  silver  and  gold  chains,*  but  I 
suppose  that  is  very  silly.  I  wish  father  were  alive 
now  to  help  me.  I  should  like  to  be  clever  myself,  too, 
and  there  is  no  one  here  who  can  give  me  aid.  Master 
Richard  does  not  care  about  these  things;  I  wonder  if 
Ian  would  be  any  good.  It's  marvellous  what  he  has 
picked  up.  I  wonder  if  he  knows  Latin.  But  that  isn't 
likely.  I  shall  ask  him  next  time  I  see  him,  but  I  sup- 
pose I  really  ought  to  try  and  sleep  now." 

So  she  fell  asleep  and  dreamed ;  and  dreamed  that  she 
was  dressed  in  velvet  and  cloth  of  silver  and  a  gold 
chain;  and  a  knight  in  shining  armour  was  kneeling  at 
her  feet  and  calling  her  his  most  learned  lady. 

Aline  did  not  get  well  very  quickly.  It  was  not  many 
days  before  she  was  able  to  get  up,  but  she  was  much 
shaken  and  easily  tired,  so  that  she  was  hardly  able  to 
do  more  than  walk  a  little  bit  about  the  house.  She  was 
quite  unequal  to  going  upstairs  and  although  at  her 
particular  request  she  had  gone  back  to  her  own  room, 
Richard  Mowbray  himself  used  to  carry  her  up  when 

*  The  sumptuary  laws  very  strictly  regulated  what  people  were 
allowed  to  wear  according  to  their  rank. 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  129 

it  came  to  bed  time.  Sometimes  he  would  even  carry 
her  out  on  to  the  moors,  and  altogether  he  paid  her  more 
attention  than  he  had  been  wont  to  do.  This  made 
his  wife  more  jealous  than  ever  and,  although  at  the 
time  it  prevented  her  from  ill-treating  the  child,  it  only 
made  matters  worse  afterwards. 

One  afternoon  when  she  had  somewhat  gained 
strength,  he  carried  her  out  across  the  court  and  up  the 
nine  steps  on  to  the  library  terrace.  "I  am  going  to 
take  you  into  the  library,"  he  said  as  he  set  her  down, 
while  he  opened  the  door.  Aline  was  pleased,  as  it  was 
now  some  weeks  since  she  had  entered  the  room. 

He  seated  her  in  the  glorious  oriel  window  at  the  end, 
with  its  beautiful  tracery  and  fine  glass,  and  put  her 
feet  up  on  the  window  seat.  The  lower  part  of  the. 
window  was  open  and  revealed  a  wonderful  view  of  the 
rolling  purple  moors,  while  in  the  foreground  was  the 
glassy  moat,  blue  as  the  heaven  above,  bright  and  beau- 
tiful, as  though  nothing  untoward  had  ever  happened 
there. 

"It  is  a  nice,  quiet  retreat  this,"  he  said,  "but  it  was 
more  suited  to  your  great-great-grandfather  who  built 
it  than  to  me.  My  father  used  to  spend  a  great  deal 
of  time  here  as  a  young  man,  but  latterly  he  was  almost 
entirely  at  his  other  place  in  Devon  as  it  suited  his 
health.  Of  course  that  has  gone  now;  we  are  living  in 
hard  times,  although  we  still  hold  the  old  Middleton 
property,  which  is  our  principal  estate ;  Holwick  is  only 
a  very  small  place.  But  he  always  took  an  interest  in 
this  library  and  right  up  to  the  last  he  used  to  send 
books  up  here  to  add  to  the  collection,  but  his  own  visits 
here  must  have  been  very  rare." 


130  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"What  was  my  great-grandmother  like,  did  you  ever 
see  her,  sire?"  said  Aline. 

"Yes,  Aline  Gillespie  was  a  very  beautiful  woman, 
and  exceedingly  clever.  She  was  also  very  gentle  and 
a  universal  favourite.  My  great-grandfather,  James 
Mowbray,  was  almost  heartbroken  when  she  married, 
although  he  was  warmly  attached  to  your  great-grand- 
father, Angus,  but  it  meant  that  she  had  to  go  and  live 
in  Scotland.  My  grandfather  was  fond  of  her,  too,  al- 
though he  was  always  a  little  bit  jealous." 

"Do  you  remember  her,  sire?" 

' '  I  saw  her  now  and  then  and  remember  that  she  used 
to  give  me  presents,  one  was  this  well-wrought  Italian 
buckle,  which  I  still  wear  on  my  belt.  She  was  very 
fond  of  books  too,  and  there  was  some  talk  of  my  great- 
grandfather having  intended  to  leave  her  half  the  books 
in  this  library;  but  he  died  rather  suddenly  and  I  im- 
agine, therefore,  that  he  had  not  time  to  carry  out  his 
intention. ' ' 

"I  suppose  then  that  she  would  often  sit  where  I  am 
sitting  now.  How  interesting  it  is  to  picture  it  all." 

"Oh,  yes,  she  had  a  special  ambry  in  the  wall,  that 
old  James  Mowbray  had  made  for  her.  It  is  there  be- 
hind that  panel,  with  the  small  ornamental  lock.  I 
think  that  the  key  of  it  will  be  about  somewhere.  The 
library  keys  used  to  be  kept  in  the  little  drawer  in  this 
table  at  the  end." 

' '  I  did  not  know  that  there  was  a  drawer, ' '  said  Aline. 

"I  fancy  it  is  made  the  way  it  is  on  purpose,  so  as 
not  to  be  very  conspicuous.  You  cannot  call  it  a  secret 
drawer  though.  I  doubt  if  that  kind  of  thing  was  in 
the  old  man 's  line,  although  he  had  some  strange  fancies. 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  131 

Yes,  here  they  are,"  he  said,  pulling  out  the  drawer. 
' '  See,  this  is  the  ambry, ' '  he  went  on,  opening  the  cup- 
board as  he  spoke.  "Would  you  like  it  for  your  own 
treasures  ? ' ' 

"Very  much  indeed." 

"Then  you  can  have  it." 

Aline 's  face  lit  up  with  pleasure.  "Oh,  thank  you 
so  much,  that  is  delightful." 

"I  am  not  certain  what  these  other  keys  are  for," 
said  Master  Mowbray.  "This  is,  I  think,  the  key  of 
that  old  kist  which  used  to  have  some  papers  that  were 
at  one  time  of  importance  relating  to  the  house.  If  you 
like  to  rummage  over  old  things  you  may  enjoy  having 
a  look  at  them.  I  think  that  you  are  a  good  girl  and 
that  I  may  trust  you,  but  you  must  remember  always  to 
lock  it  and  put  everything  back.  One  of  the  other  keys 
is,  of  course,  the  key  of  the  rods  that  hold  the  books  and 
the  remaining  key  I  have  forgotten.  You  had  better 
take  your  own  key  off  the  bunch,  but  keep  them  all  in 
the  drawer  as  before." 

He  put  the  keys  in  the  drawer  and  came  back  and  sat 
on  the  seat  opposite  her.  "I  have  never  heard  you 
read,"  he  said,  "and  Audry  tells  me  that  you  are  a  fine 
reader.  I  have  almost  forgotten  how  to  read  myself, 
so  little  do  I  practise  it  nowadays.  Are  you  tired,  child  ? 
Would  you  read  me  something?" 

"Yes,  sire,  if  it  would  please  you,"  she  said. 

"You  can  call  me  Cousin  Richard,"  he  replied.  "I 
remember  how  my  aunt,  your  great-grandmother,  whom 
you  slightly  resemble,  once  read  to  me  in  this  very  room, 
when  I  was  a  boy." 

"Oh,  what  did  she  read?" 


132  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"There  was  one  story,  a  poem  about  a  father  who  had 
lost  his  little  daughter,  and  saw  a  vision  of  her  in 
heaven. ' ' 

"Oh,  'Pearl,'  a  lovely  musical  thing  with  all  the  words 
beginning  with  the  same  letters.  I  do  not  mean  all  the 
words ;  I  do  not  know  how  to  explain  it ;  you  know  what 
I  mean." 

"Then  there  was  another  one  about  a  green  girdle 
and  a  lady  that  kissed  a  knight. ' ' 

"Yes,  'Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight';  it  is  a 
pretty  tale." 

"But  I  think  what  I  liked  best  of  all  was  Sir  Thomas 
Malory." 

"That  is  what  Audry  likes  best,"  said  Aline;  "she 
thinks  that  some  of  the  books  that  I  read  are  too  dry, 
because  they  are  not  stories,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  too 
do  not  like  'The  Morte  d' Arthur'  best  of  all." 

"Read  me  something  out  of  that." 

She  turned  to  the  well  known  scene  of  the  passing  of 
Arthur.  Master  Mowbray  leaned  back  against  the  win- 
dow-jamb and  looked  across  at  her  in  the  opposite  cor- 
ner. The  late  afternoon  sun  was  warm  and  golden. 
She  was  wearing  a  little  white  dress,  which  took  on  a 
rich  glow  in  the  mellow  light.  Over  her  hair  and  shoul- 
der played  the  colours  from  the  glass  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  window.  She  knew  the  story  practically  by  heart 
and  her  big  eyes  looking  across  at  him  seemed  to  grow 
larger  and  rounder  with  wonder  and  mystery  as  she 
told  the  tale. 

Under  the  spell  of  the  soft  witching  music  of  her  voice 
he  was  transported  to  that  enchanted  land,  and  there  he 
saw  the  dying  king  and  Sir  Bedivere  failing  to  throw 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  133 

the  sword  into  the  water: — "But  go  again  lightly,  for 
thy  long  tarrying  putteth  me  in  great  jeopardy  of  my 
life,  for  I  have  taken  cold  .  .  .  for  thou  wouldest  for 
my  rich  sword  see  me  dead!"  Then  followed  the  pas- 
sage where  Sir  Bedivere  throws  in  the  sword  and  the 
mystic  barge  comes  with  the  three  Queens,  and  as  Rich- 
ard Mowbray  looked  over  at  the  little  face  before  him  he 
saw  in  the  one  face  the  beauty  of  them  all.  So  on  the 
wings  of  a  perfect  tale  perfectly  told  he  forgot  the  per- 
plexities and  anxieties  that  encompassed  him,  and  him- 
self floated  to  the  Land  of  Avilion  while  he  gazed  and, 
like  Ian  Menstrie,  was  lured  by  the  same  charm  and  be- 
gan to  wonder  whether  she  were  not  indeed  herself  from 
the  land  of  faery.  "  'For  I  will  go  to  the  vale  of  Avi- 
lion,' "  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  'to  heal  me  of  my 
grievous  wound.'  ! 

"Yes,  this  is  a  healing  of  the  wounds  of  life,"  he 
added.  "I  never  realised  before  that  beauty  had  such 
power.  Come,  child,  it  is  time  we  went,"  he  said  aloud 
and  gently  lifted  her  in  his  arms;  "we  must  see  what  the 
others  are  doing."  So  he  carried  her  out  on  to  the  ter- 
race that  ran  in  front  of  the  library  and  down  the  steps 
and  across  the  quadrangle  to  the  great  Hall.  There  they 
found  considerable  excitement;  a  packman  with  five 
horses  had  arrived  from  the  south  and  every  one  was 
making  purchases  who  had  any  money  laid  by. 

"Now  that  is  a  fine  carpet,"  he  was  saying  as  he  un- 
rolled a  piece  of  Flemish  work.  "It  was  made  at  Ispa- 
han for  the  Shah  of  Persia  and  is  the  best  bit  of  Persian 
carpet  you  will  ever  see.  That  would  look  well  in  my 
lady's  boudoir.  I  would  let  you  have  that  for  five 
florins." 


134  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

He  did  not  seem  very  pleased  at  the  master 's  entrance 
at  that  moment;  Richard  Mowbray  glanced  at  it  and 
remarked,  "But  that  is  Flemish  weaving." 

"Did  I  not  say  Flemish?"  he  said.  "Oh,  it  is  Flem- 
ish right  enough;  it  was  made  for  the  Duke  of 
Flanders." 

"And  if  I  had  said  it  was  Tuscan  I  suppose  it  would 
have  been  made  for  the  Duke  of  Tuscany." 

"Ah,  master,  you  make  mock  of  me;  see,  here,  I  have 
some  buckles  of  chaste  design  that  might  take  your 
fancy  or  these  daggers  of  Spanish  make,  or  what  say 
you  to  a  ring  or  a  necklace  for  one  of  the  ladies  ? ' ' 

"We  have  no  moneys  for  gauds  and  vanities." 

"But  beauty  will  not  bide,  and  when  you  have  the 
money  it  may  be  too  late;  you  would  not  let  it  go  un- 
graced.  Prithee  try  these  garnets  on  the  Lady  of  Hoi- 
wick.  They  would  become  her  well,  or  this  simple  sil- 
ver chain  for  the  young  mistress,"  looking  at  Aline  for 
the  first  time.  "By  my  troth  she  is  a  beautiful  child," 
he  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"Ah  well  then,  my  friend,  good  wine  needs  no  bush." 

"Nay,  sweets  to  the  sweet,  and  for  fair  maids  fair 
things." 

' '  Truly  you  are  a  courtier. ' ' 

"Ay,  and  have  been  at  court,  and  those  of  most 
courtesy  have  bought  most  of  my  wares." 

"Enough,  enough,  what  have  you  of  good  household 
stuff,  things  that  a  good  housewife  must  buy  though  the 
times  be  hard.  Come,  show  my  lady  such  things  as  good 
linen  and  good  cloth." 

"You  bring  him  to  the  point,"  said  Mistress  Mow- 
bray;  "yes,  sirrah,  what  have  you  in  the  way  of  linen?" 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  135 

"I  have  linen  of  France  and  linen  of  Flanders;  I  have 
linen  fine  and  linen  coarse. ' ' 

He  unrolled  several  samples  as  he  spoke,  and  Mistress 
Mowbray  selected  some  linen  of  Rennes  of  fine  texture, 
which  she  said  would  do  to  make  garments  for  Audry 
and  herself.  "And  your  supply  of  clothes  that  you 
brought  from  Scotland  is  in  need  of  some  plenishing," 
she  said,  glancing  at  Aline.  There  will  be  work  for  idle 
hands.  Here,  this  stout  dowlas  *  will  stand  wear  well, 
and  be  warmer  too." 

Aline  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her  face,  but  she  said 
nothing.  It  was  not  that  she  thought  much  about  her 
clothes;  indeed  she  had  the  natural  simple  taste  of  the 
high  born  that  eschews  finery,  yet  a  certain  daintiness 
and  delicacy  she  did  desire  and  had  always  had,  and  it 
was  a  bitter  disappointment,  a  disappointment  made 
more  cruel  by  the  public  shame  of  it. 

Walter  Margrove,  the  packman,  looked  at  her ;  he  had 
not  travelled  amongst  all  sorts  and  conditions  for  noth- 
ing and  he  took  the  situation  in  at  a  glance. 

"Yes,  Mistress  Mowbray,"  Aline  said  at  length,  "I 
shall  have  a  great  deal  to  do. ' ' 

Richard  Mowbray  had  left  the  hall,  but  old  Elspeth 
who  was  standing  by  said,  "I  will  help  you,  childie." 

Mistress  Mowbray  scowled  at  her,  and  muttered, — 
"Well,  I  hope,  Aline,  that  you  will  work  hard,"  then 
turning  to  Margrove  she  asked  to  look  at  other  wares. 
Such  opportunities  did  not  often  occur  in  a  remote  place 
like  Holwick  and  it  was  very  difficult  to  do  one's  pur- 
chasing at  a  distance ;  so  although  she  only  bought  things 

*  A  very  coarse  sort  of  canvas  used  for  underclothes  by  the 
poorest  classes  in  the  sixteenth  century. 


136  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

of  real  necessity  she  laid  in  a  large  supply  from  the 
packman's  stock. 

On  these  occasions  the  surrounding  tenants  were  al- 
lowed to  come  up  to  the  hall  and  Walter  Hargrove,  when 
Mistress  Mowbray  had  departed,  started  to  put  his 
things  together  to  take  them  into  the  courtyard.  The 
children  stayed  behind  to  watch  him  for  a  few  mo- 
ments and  as  he  was  leaving  the  Hall  he  pressed  a 
small  packet  into  Aline 's  hand  and  said  in  a  whisper, 
"Do  not  say  anything;  it  is  a  pleasure,  just  a  small  re- 
membrance. ' ' 

The  packet  contained  the  small  silver  necklace  that  he 
had  been  showing  before.  It  was  not  of  great  intrinsic 
value,  but  was  of  singularly  chaste  design  and  though 
exceedingly  simple  was  of  much  beauty. 

Aline  was  immensely  surprised  at  the  unexpected  joy, 
and  for  the  time  it  quite  made  up  to  her  for  her  pre- 
vious disappointment. 

As  the  packman  went  into  the  courtyard  a  great  crowd 
gathered  round  him,  both  chaffering  and  gossiping. 
"Who  is  the  beautiful  young  mistress  that  has  come  to 
Holwick?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  she  is  a  distant  cousin  of  Master  Mowbray," 
said  one,  "but  you  have  no  idea  of  the  things  that  have 
been  going  on  since  you  were  last  at  Holwick." 

"What  things?" 

"Why,  the  child  has  been  nearly  killed,"  said  old 
Elspeth  who  had  followed  the  packman  out.  ' '  Poor  wee 
soul,  it  makes  my  old  heart  bleed  to  think  of  it  even 
now. ' ' 

Elspeth  then  recounted  the  tale  of  all  that  had  taken 
place. 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  137 

"Then  why  is  Mistress  Holwick  not  more  grateful? 
She  seems  to  have  saved  her  and  her  good  man  a  pretty 
penny  indeed." 

"The  woman  is  crazed  with  jealousy  or  envy  or  what 
not,"  said  another. 

"But  the  child  seems  a  lovable  one  to  my  thinking," 
said  Margrove. 

"There  has  never  been  a  better  lassie  in  Holwick  is 
my  way  of  looking  at  it."  It  was  Janet  Arnside  who 
was  speaking ;  she  had  come  up  to  see  Elspeth,  and  take 
the  opportunity  of  buying  a  few  trifles  at  the  same  time. 
"My  boy  just  owes  his  life  to  her;  she  has  been  down  to 
us  times  without  number,  and  I  have  never  seen  any- 
thing like  the  way  that  she  gets  hold  of  one's  heart.  I 
cried  the  whole  day  long  when  I  heard  of  her  being  hurt 
like  that,  and  it  just  makes  me  rage  to  hear  the  things 
that  they  tell  of  Mistress  Holwick  and  the  child.  It 
would  have  been  the  worst  thing  that  ever  happened  to 
Holwick  if  anything  really  serious  had  befallen  her  that 
night. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  several  voices  in  chorus. 

"And  why  should  not  the  bairn  have  fine  linen,  I 
should  like  to  know?"  she  went  on. 

"It  is  a  downright  shame,"  said  a  man's  voice. 

"Well,  neighbour,"  said  Janet,  "I  am  not  the  one  to 
interfere  in  other  folk's  business,  but  I  am  not  the  only 
one  that  the  child  has  blessed,  not  the  only  one  by  a  long 
way. ' ' 

"No,  that  you  are  not,  mistress," — "No,  indeed,  think 
of  my  wife's  sickness," — "Think  of  my  little  lass," — 
"Ay,  and  mine," — "And  my  old  father," — said  one 
voice  after  another. 


138  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Can  we  not  do  something,  neighbours?"  said  Janet. 
"Why  not  speak  to  Master  Kichard  himself?" 

"It  is  an  ill  thing  to  meddle  between  husband  and 
wife,"  said  Margrove.  "By  my  halidame  I  have  a  half 
mind  to  speak  to  the  jade  myself.  She  cannot  hurt  me." 

"No,  but  she  can  hurt  the  child  more,  when  you  have 
gone,"  rejoined  Elspeth.  "Look  here,  it  is  not  much, 
but  it  is  something ;  let  us  get  the  linen  ourselves,  and  it 
will  help  Master  Margrove,  honest  man,  at  the  same 
time.  I  shall  be  seeing  to  the  making  of  the  clothes  and 
I  can  make  a  tale  for  the  child  and  prevent  her  speaking 
to  Mistress  Mowbray.  The  Mistress  does  not  pay  that 
much  attention  to  the  little  lady's  belongings  I  can  tell 
you.  She  leaves  it  all  to  me,  and  bless  you  if  she  sees 
any  linen  garments  I  shall  tell  her  that  they  are  of  those 
that  came  from  Scotland." 

"Ay,  ay,  agreed,  agreed,"  they  all  shouted.  "Give 
us  the  very  best  linen  you  have,  master,  and  some  of  your 
finest  lace  and  we  will  clothe  her  like  a  princess  under 
her  kirtle." 

"I'  faith,  you  are  the  right  sort,  but  it  is  no  profit  I 
will  be  making  on  this  business;  no,  you  shall  have  the 
things  at  the  price  I  paid  for  them  and  not  a  groat  more, 
no,  not  even  for  carriage  and  I  will  give  her  some  pieces 
of  lace  myself.  See  here  are  some  fine  pieces  of  Italian 
work.  This  is  a  beautiful  little  piece  of  punto  in  aria 
and  this  is  a  fine  piece  of  merletti  a  piombini:  But 
stay;  she  shall  have  too  a  finer  piece  still,  something 
like  the  second  one;  it  is  Flemish,  dentelles  au  fuseau, 
from  Malines";  he  drew  it  forth  as  he  spoke  and  fin- 
gered it  lovingly  amid  marked  expressions  of  admiration 
from  Elspeth  and  the  other  woman. 

"It's  nothing  to  some  beans  that  I  shall  give  her,"  in- 


THE  PACKMAN'S  VISIT  139 

terposed  Silas,  the  irrepressible  farm-reeve.  "They  are 
French,  you  know,  from  Paris,"  imitating  Walter's 
manner. 

"Be  quiet";  "stop  your  nonsense,"  they  all  shouted. 

' '  I  am  not  quite  sure, ' '  he  went  on  dreamily  and  quite 
unperturbed,  "whether  I  shall  thread  them  on  a  string 
to  wear  on  her  bosom,  or  cook  them  for  her  to  wear  in- 
side ;  but  certainly  she  shall  have  them  for  nothing ;  not 
a  groat  will  I  take.  I  should  scorn  to  ask  the  price  they 
cost  me." 

Jock,  the  stableman,  stepped  forward  and  struck  out 
playfully  at  Silas.  "He  always  carries  on  like  that," 
he  said;  but  Silas  dodged  aside  and  put  out  his  leg  so 
that  Jock  stumbled  and  collapsed  in  confusion  into  Wal- 
ter's arms. 

"A  judgment  on  the  stableman  for  insulting  th/e 
reeve,"  said  Silas,  marching  off  with  mock  solemnity. 

As  he  reached  the  gate  he  turned  back.  ' '  No  offence, 
Walter;  put  me  down  for  ten  florins  for  our  bonnie  lit- 
tle mistress.  I'll  bring  it  anon." 

The  others  gasped  at  the  largeness  of  the  sum  as  the 
good-natured  face  of  the  reeve  disappeared  through  the 
archway. 

Soon  after,  the  crowd  thinned  away  and  Walter  was 
packing  up  his  things,  when  Aline  happened  to  come  to 
the  hall  door.  He  saw  her  and  went  quickly  to  her  and 
before  she  could  thank  him  for  his  present  of  the  neck- 
lace he  said,  "If  at  any  time  there  is  anything  that  you 
would  like  me  to  do  out  in  the  wide  world,  a  message  for 
instance,  remember  that  I  am  always  ready  to  help  you. ' ' 

"I  do  not  think  that  there  is  anything  just  now,"  she 
said. 

"Then  God  be  with  you," — and  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS 

ALINE  had  rather  overtaxed  her  strength  and 
had  a  slight  set-back,  so  that  it  was  some  time 
before  she  was  strong  enough  to  climb  down 
the  stairs  and  visit  Ian  again.  He  was  feeling  very  de- 
jected that  day.  His  collar  bone  and  his  ankle  had 
healed ;  but  although  in  some  ways  better,  he  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  the  want  of  fresh  air  and  it  told  not  only 
upon  his  health  but  his  spirits.  He  was  also  desperately 
anxious  to  get  on  to  Carlisle  where  it  was  arranged  that 
he  should  hand  over  the  papers  to  Johnne  Erskyne  of 
Doun,  but  he  was  by  no  means  fit  to  travel  on  his  dan- 
gerous errand.  The  worrying,  however,  made  him 
worse  and  what  he  felt  he  required  was  some  gentle  ex- 
ercise to  get  up  his  strength. 

Altogether  it  was  with  keener  pleasure  even  than  usual 
that  he  saw  Aline  come.  ' '  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you, ' ' 
he  said ;  ' '  Audry  has  been  telling  me  the  dreadful  things 
that  have  happened,  but  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something 
yourself.  Sit  down  and  make  yourself  as  comfortable 
as  you  can." 

"But  I  am  not  an  invalid  now,"  said  Aline,  "and  do 
not  need  special  comfort.  How  are  you;  are  you  not 
tired  of  being  shut  up  here?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  you  too  will  be  wanting  some  fresh 

140 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  141 

air  to  put  you  to  rights  again.  Audry  says  that  you 
did  not  suffer  much  pain;  is  that  so?  But  it  must 
have  been  a  terrible  shock ;  you  may  well  take  some  time 
to  recover." 

"I  am  getting  on  marvellously  well,"  said  Aline, 
"and  I  have  been  thinking  that  you  might  be  getting 
out  a  little  bit.  You  could  sit  out  near  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  if  one  of  us  kept  watch,  and  after  dark  it  would 
even  be  safe  to  walk  a  little." 

"Yes,  I  have  been  thinking  that  myself,"  he  replied. 
' '  I  have  been  looking  round  this  room  to  while  away  the 
time  and  have  found  some  interesting  things.  I  won- 
der, by  the  way,  what  is  in  that  old  iron  chest  there.  It 
does  not  seem  to  have  any  lock,  which  is  most  strange." 

' '  Yes,  we  must  find  that  out, ' '  said  Aline,  ' '  but  really 
so  many  things  have  happened  and  there  has  been  so 
much  to  do  that  we  have  not  had  time  to  think  about  it. ' ' 

"Well,  amongst  other  things  I  have  found  some  ra- 
piers," he  said,  "and  have  been  practising  thrusts 
and  parries,  by  way  of  getting  a  little  exercise,  but  one 
cannot  do  much  by  oneself.  Two  men  imprisoned  in 
this  place  might  keep  themselves  in  fair  condition,  al- 
though it  is  rather  short  of  air  for  such  activity;  how- 
ever, that  cannot  be." 

"Oh,  let  me  see  the  rapiers,"  said  Aline.  "Ah,  here 
they  are, — and  helmets  and  leather  jerkins  and  gloves. 
I  am  going  to  dress  up, ' '  she  added,  laughing. 

"There  now,  what  do  I  look  like?  You  must  dress 
up  too ;  I  want  to  see  how  they  suit  you. ' ' 

Ian  put  on  a  helmet  and  the  other  things  while  Aline 
executed  a  graceful  little  dance  round  the  room.  When 
he  had  finished  she  said  roguishly,  "Do  you  know  any- 


142  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

thing  about  fencing?  I  have  seen  people  fence.  They 
stand  something  like  this, ' '  putting  her  right  foot  rather 
too  far  forward  and  turning  it  outward  and  not  bending 
the  knee  sufficiently.  ' '  Shall  I  teach  you  ? " 

''No,  but  I  might  teach  you,"  said  Ian,  quite  inno- 
cently. 

"Well,  but  do  you  know  anything  about  it?"  and 
Aline  smiled  mischievously. 

"I  ought  to  do;  when  I  was  a  wanderer  in  Italy  I 
learned  a  great  deal  that  is  entirely  unknown  here." 

' '  Stand  on  guard  then,  and  show  me  something. ' '  As 
he  moved,  she  appeared  to  copy  his  attitude.  "En- 
gage, ' '  and  mechanically  from  long  use  he  brought  down 
his  sword.  In  a  flash  she  disengaged  and  cut  over.  He 
parried ;  she  made  a  remise,  and  was  in  upon  him  with  a 
hit  over  the  heart. 

Aline  burst  out  laughing  while  Ian  was  thunder- 
struck. She  took  off  her  helmet  saying,  "We  must  not 
have  any  more  to-day  as  I  am  not  well  enough,  but  we 
shall  have  some  fine  times  later  on.  It  was  rather  a 
shame  though,  but  I  could  not  help  it,  it  was  such  fun. 
I  was  a  little  afraid  that  you  would  be  too  taken  aback 
to  parry  at  all,  and  that  would  have  been  very  dull.  I 
hope  you  are  a  good  fencer  really;  there  was  said  to  be 
no  one  in  Scotland  who  could  come  anywhere  near  my 
father." 

' '  Oh,  that  is  how  you  come  to  know  so  much  about  it, ' ' 
said  Ian,  sitting  down.  Even  the  slight  effort  had  been 
too  much. 

"Yes,  my  father  taught  me  and  told  me  that  I  was 
getting  on  Very  well,  but  I  have  had  no  practice  since  I 
came  to  Holwick  some  eight  months  ago.  Things  are 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  143 

much  harder  than  they  used  to  be.  Father  used  to  give 
me  much  of  his  time.  You  see  he  had  no  boys  and  so  he 
always  said  that  he  would  like  me  to  know  the  things 
that  boys  know.  And  yet  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  alto- 
gether fond  of  them.  But  I  have  always  loved  swim- 
ming, and  fencing  is  delightful.  Somehow  I  never  cared 
particularly  about  riding,  but  I  have  come  to  like  it  in 
the  last  week  or  two,  since  I  have  started  again.  It  takes 
me  away  from  the  Hall  and  that  is  a  great  thing." 

"I  always  loved  riding,"  said  Ian.  "There  is  noth- 
ing like  a  good  horse  at  a  canter  and  the  wind  rushing 
over  one's  face." 

"Yes,  I  do  not  know  why  it  was.  Of  course  we  never 
had  good  horses  after  I  was  eight  years  old." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  get  away  from  the  Hall?" 

Aline  did  not  speak  at  first ;  then  she  said,  ' '  Well,  you 
see  it  makes  a  change." 

"Is  it  Mistress  Mowbray  that  is  the  real  cause? 
Come,  little  one,  tell  me  truthfully,  doesn't  she  treat  you 
well?" 

"There  is  always  a  great  deal  to  do,  cleaning  and 
mending  and,  when  there  is  nothing  else,  there  is  always 
spinning  and  carding." 

"Well,  I  suppose  that  we  must  all  of  us  do  our  share 
of  work." 

Aline  could  not  keep  back  the  tears,  which  welled  into 
her  eyes  and  made  them  glisten.  "Yes,  it  is  not  really 
the  work,  I  should  not  mind  the  work.  Indeed  I  am  used 
to  very  hard  work  indeed ;  because,  before  the  end,  I  used 
to  have  to  do  almost  everything  at  home." 

"What  does  she  do  to  you,  child?  Has  she  been  los- 
ing her  temper  again?  Come,  tell  me." 


144  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

' '  I  do  not  like  to  say,  but  she  does  all  kinds  of  things. ' ' 
"Well,  never  mind  if  you  do  not  want  to  tell  me." 
"No,  I  do  not  mind  telling  you;  it  is  that  I  am  not 
sure  how  far  I  should  say  anything  to  any  one  at  all. 
But  you  will  never  see  her  and  it  does  relieve  one 's  feel- 
ings to  be  able  to  speak  to  any  one. ' ' 

"Then  come  and  sit  by  me  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 
Aline  came  and  sat  by  him  on  the  old  settee.  "You 
see  it  is  not  exactly  because  she  hits  me  that  I  mind,  al- 
though I  have  never  been  hit  by  any  one  before ;  but  she 
is  always  doing  little  petty  things  that  in  some  ways  are 
harder  to  bear  than  being  knocked  about ; — for  instance, 
when  we  sit  down  to  breakfast  there  are  always  two 
pitchers  of  milk,  which  we  have  with  our  porridge. 
They  are  neither  of  them  quite  full,  and  she  takes  one 
of  them  and  pours  out  some  for  herself  and  Cousin 
Richard,  then  she  looks  into  it  to  see  what  is  left  and 
generally  pours  most  of  it  into  the  other  pitcher.  After 
that  she  hands  the  full  one  to  Audry  and  the  one  with 
only  a  little  drop  in  the  bottom  to  me." 
"Does  Audry  know?" 

"Of  course  not, — dear  Audry, — I  am  sure  if  it  would 
benefit  Audry  I  would  go  without  milk  altogether.  I 
would  not  have  her  know  for  worlds ;  she  would  quarrel 
with  her  mother  over  it." 

"What  else  does  she  do?"  Ian  asked. 
Aline  then  told  the  story  of  the  packman.  She  did 
not  yet  know  what  had  been  done  by  Elspeth  and  the 
others  about  the  linen,  but  she  pulled  up  the  necklace 
which  she  was  wearing  under  her  dress  and  shewed  it  to 
Ian.  "Now  is  that  not  pretty?  I  have  always  wanted 
a  necklace  and  father  had  promised  only  a  little  while 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  145 

before  he  died  that  as  soon  as  he  could  afford  it  he  would 
get  me  one;  so  I  try  to  think  of  it  as  if  it  was  father's 
present. ' ' 

.  The  tears  again  gathered  in  the  beautiful  eyes  and  this 
time  one  rolled  over  on  to  her  cheek.  She  brushed  it 
away  hastily ;  but  Ian  drew  her  gently  towards  him  and 
kissed  her  for  the  first  time.  ' '  Sweet  little  maiden, ' '  he 
said,  "I  hope  that  God  will  be  good  to  you  after  what 
you  have  been  through  in  your  young  life. ' ' 

"I  do  not  like  the  priest  here,"  she  continued;  "of 
course  I  like  Father  Laurence,  but  Middleton  is  too  far 
away  and  when  I  went  to  confession  the  other  day  I  said 
something  to  Father  Ambrose  about  father,  but  he  was 
not  a  bit  kind  and  sympathetic  like  our  dear  old  priest 
at  home.  I  always  keep  a  candle  burning  for  father; 
that  is  what  I  mainly  spend  my  money  on,  and  I  wanted 
him  to  tell  me  how  long  he  thought  it  would  be  before 
my  father's  soul  would  get  to  heaven;  do  you  think  it 
will  be  very  long,  and  will  my  candles  help  him  ?  Some- 
how I  do  not  see  why  God  should  make  any  difference 
because  of  our  candles;  suppose  my  father  had  had  no 
little  girl  to  burn  candles ;  or  suppose  that  I  had  had  no 
money,  that  would  have  been  worse  still." 

"These  things  are  very  difficult,  sweet  child,  but  I  am 
sure  that  the  love  of  your  little  heart  that  happens  to 
show  itself  in  buying  the  candles  must  meet  with  its  own 
reward,  whether  candles  themselves  are  necessary  or 
not.  But  I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  be  of  much  use  to 
you,  little  one,  because  I  am  no  longer  of  the  old  faith." 

"Tell  me  something  about  that  then.  Father  said 
that  he  would  tell  me  when  I  got  older." 

" I  do  not  want  to  unsettle  you, ' '  Ian  said ;  "but  of  one 


146  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

thing  I  feel  sure, — that  God  would  never  deal  harshly 
with  a  child  that  believed  what  it  had  been  taught. 
When  we  get  older  it  is  different,  just  as  it  is  in  the  other 
responsibilities  of  life.  That  is  largely  why  we  are  put 
here  in  this  world, — to  learn  to  think  for  ourselves  and 
take  up  responsibilities :  things  are  not  made  too  easy  for 
us,  or  we  should  not  have  the  high  honour  that  God  has 
given  us  of  largely  building  our  own  characters, — of 
making  ourselves." 

Aline  sat  quiet  and  thoughtful  for  some  time.  "Mas- 
ter Menstrie,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  am  not  so  very 
young  now  and  I  think  that  I  should  like  to  begin  to 
know  something  about  these  things." 

' '  You  have  not  read  the  Bible,  I  suppose, ' '  said  Ian. 

"No,  it  is  wicked  to  read  the  Bible." 

"Why?" 

"The  priests  say  so." 

"But  how  do  you  know  that  they  are  right?  After 
all,  what  is  the  Bible?  It  is  the  word  of  God,  and  al- 
though even  the  Bible  was  written  by  human  beings,  it  is 
largely  the  words  of  our  Lord  himself  and  the  writings 
of  people  who  actually  knew  him  or  lived  in  that  very 
time." 

Ian  talked  to  her  for  some  time,  and  then  Aline  said 
that  she  would  like  to  read  the  Bible. 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not,"  he  said, 
"but  you  must  remember  that  you  are  undertaking  a 
great  responsibility,  and  that  though  it  may  bring  great 
joy  and  comfort,  it  will  be  the  beginning  of  sorrow  too, 
and  you  are  very  young, ' '  he  added,  looking  at  her  wist- 
fully. "I  have  a  little  English  translation  of  the  New 
Testament,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause,  "which  I  can 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  147 

lend  you,  but  Audry  was  telling  me  the  other  day  that 
you  could  read  Greek." 

"Oh,  only  easy  Greek,"  said  Aline.  "I  have  read 
some  of  Aisop  and  that  is  quite  easy,  but  father  and  I 
used  to  read  Homer  together  and  that  was  delightful 
although  more  difficult." 

' '  Did  you  read  much  ?    What  did  you  like  best  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  I  read  a  great  deal;  at  least  it  was  really 
father  reading,  at  any  rate  at  first.  I  did  not  do  much 
more  than  follow,  but  I  got  so  used  to  it  at  last  that  I 
could  read  it  without  great  difficulty.  There  was  so 
much  that  I  liked  that  I  could  not  say  what  I  liked  best, 
but  there  was  little  that  was  more  delightful  than  the 
story  of  Nausikaa.  I  shall  never  forget  her  parting  with 
Odysseus. 

"Father  told  me  that  the  Lady  Jane  Grey  read  and 
enjoyed  Plato  and  Demosthenes,  when  she  was  about  the 
age  I  am  now,  besides  knowing  French  and  Italian 
thoroughly.  I  have  read  a  little  Plato  and  have  tried 
Demosthenes,  but  I  did  not  care  about  him  so  much." 

"I  love  Plato,"  said  Ian.  "After  the  Bible  there  is 
nothing  so  helpful  in  the  world.  You  seem  to  have 
done  very  well,  little  maid;  but  can  you  read  Latin?" 

"That  is  amusing,"  she  said,  "because  I  was  going 
to  ask  you  if  you  could  read  Latin.  Now  I  shall  want 
to  know  if  you  can  read  Greek  or  if  you  read  in  Latin 
translations.  Oh,  yes, ' '  she  went  on,  ' '  I  can  read  Latin 
quite  easily.  I  dare  say  there  is  some  Latin  that  I  can- 
not read,  but  anything  at  all  ordinary  I  can  manage. 
Yet  I  do  not  like  Latin  as  well  as  Greek,  and  the  things 
that  are  written  in  Latin  are  not  half  as  interesting." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you.     I  learned  Latin  as  a  boy, 


148  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

but  when  I  was  in  Venice  working  on  some  great  iron 
hinges,  my  employer,  who  was  a  great  scholar,  took  an 
interest  in  me  and  he  enabled  me  to  get  a  fair  knowledge 
of  Greek.  I  have  steadily  practised  it  since  and  can  now 
read  anything,  except  some  of  the  choruses  and  things 
like  that,  without  difficulty.  However,  if  you  can  read 
Latin,  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  read  an  English  trans- 
lation at  all,  and  it  is  much  safer;  as  the  priests  do  not 
mind  any  one,  who  can  read  Latin,  reading  the  Bible 
nearly  so  much  as  those  who  cannot.  I  expect  that  there 
will  be  a  copy  of  the  Vulgate  in  the  library;  although 
it  is  very  unlikely  that  there  will  be  anything  in  the  orig- 
inal Greek ;  though  there  might  be  the  Septuagint. ' ' 

"What  is  the  Vulgate  then?" 

"Oh,  a  translation  of  the  Bible  into  Latin.  It  is 
really  a  revised  edition  of  the  'Old  Latin'  translation, 
made  in  the  time  of  Pope  Damasus  and  after,  largely  by 
St.  Jerome  in  the  fourth  century." 

' '  I  shall  go  and  have  a  look  as  soon  as  I  can. ' ' 

Ian  sat  and  looked  at  her  without  speaking.  She  cer- 
tainly was  a  most  unusual  child,  but  he  was  by  no  means 
anxious  to  trouble  her  mind  with  disturbing  perplexities. 
There  is  a  good  deal  to  be  said  even  for  the  priests,  he 
reflected;  responsibility  may  be  too  crushing  altogether. 

"Well,  I  have  to  go  and  do  some  spinning  and  Mis- 
tress Mowbray  will  be  wondering  where  I  am;  but  you 
will  give  me  lessons  in  Greek,  will  you  not  ? ' ' 

' '  Certainly,  we  will  start  next  time  you  come  to  see  me. 
See  if  you  can  find  some  Greek  books  in  the  library. 
Good-bye." 

Aline  departed  and  sat  at  the  wheel  till  supper  and 
then  went  up  with  Audry  to  their  room. 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  149 

What  was  her  surprise  as  she  looked  at  her  bed  to  see 
it  covered  with  neatly  folded  little  piles  of  beautiful 
linen. 

Child  as  she  was  she  knew  at  once  that  both  the  linen 
and  lace  upon  it  were  of  exceptional  quality. 

"O  Audry  dear!  what  is  all  this?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  you  will  never  guess,  will  she,  Elspeth?"  said 
Audry,  turning  to  the  old  nurse  who  had  stolen  in  to  see 
how  the  gift  would  be  received. 

"Nobody  could  bear  that  you  should  wear  dowlas, 
hinnie,"  said  the  old  dame,  "and  so  practically  every 
one  in  the  neighbourhood  has  had  a  hand  in  what  you 
see  there.  Janet  Arnside  made  this  camise,  and  Mar- 
tha, the  laundry-maid,  made  that  nightrobe.  Joseph, 
the  stableman,  and  Silas  bought  the  bit  of  lace  on  this. 
Edward  bought  this  larger  piece  of  punto  in  aria  here. 
I  made  these  with  the  tela  tirata  work  with  my  own 
hands  and  I  do  hope  you  will  like  them." 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  Aline,  bewildered  as  much  by 
the  demonstration  of  widespread  affection  as  by  the  al- 
together unexpected  acquisition.  "Elspeth,  you  are  a 
dear,  and,  oh,  it  is  good  of  them,  but  what  will  Mistress 
Mowbray  say?" 

"Mistress  Mowbray  is  not  to  know,  that's  what  they 
all  said;  if  she  did,  marry,  she  would  say  that  we  were 
all  doited,  and  you  would  not  let  her  think  that,  would 
you,  dearie?"  said  the  old  woman  slyly.  "You  will  be 
careful  not  to  get  us  into  trouble,  for  we  meant  it 
kindly." 

Aline  was  quite  overcome  and  they  went  through  every 
piece  and  learnt  its  history. 

"I  cannot  help  liking  nice  things,"  said  Aline. 


150  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

''And  why  should  you  not?"  exclaimed  the  old 
woman;  "it  is  only  vulgar  when  you  put  dress  before 
other  things  or  think  about  it  every  day.  Old  Mistress 
Mowbray, — your  grandmother,  my  dear,"  turning  to 
Audry,  "used  often  to  say  that  it  was  the  mark  of  a 
lady  to  dress  well  but  simply  and  not  to  think  much 
about  it." 

"I  should  much  prefer  simple  clothes  except  for  great 
occasions,"  said  Aline,  "if  only  for  the  sake  of  making 
the  great  occasion  more  special ;  but  even  then  I  like  the 
rich  broad  effects  that  father  used  to  talk  about  with 
long  lines  and  big  masses  and  full  drapery  rather  than 
elaborate  things.  Some  of  these  newer  styles  I  do  not 
like  at  all." 

"Yes,  I  agree  with  you,"  Audry  chimed  in,  "but  I 
should  like  to  wear  velvet  other  than  black,  and  I  have 
always  longed  to  have  some  ermine. ' ' 

"Well,  unless  they  alter  the  laws  of  the  land  for  your 
benefit,  childie,  you  will  have  to  marry  a  baron ;  but  you 
should  be  thankful  for  what  you  have  got.  I  should 
soon  be  tried  in  the  court*  if  I  started  wearing  black 
velvet,"  said  Elspeth. 

"Does  your  ambition  soar  to  diamonds  and  pearls, 
Audry?"  asked  Aline,  laughing. 

' '  No,  I  will  leave  them  to  the  princesses  and  duchesses. 
But  look  here,  Aline,"  said  Audry,  with  an  air  of  tri- 
umph, picking  up  a  particularly  beautiful  smock,  "I 
bought  all  the  material  with  my  own  money  and  made  it 
every  bit  myself,  and  Elspeth  says  I  have  done  it  very 
well." 

*  The  sumptuary  laws  regulated  what  each  rank  was  allowed 
to  wear. 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  151 

"You  darling,"  said  Aline,  and  kissed  her  cousin 
again  and  again.  "Oh,  I  do  feel  so  happy." 

' '  But  you  have  not  finished, ' '  said  Audry,  ' '  and  here 's 
a  parcel  you  have  not  undone." 

Aline  picked  it  up  and  turned  it  over.  On  it  was 
written: — "From  Mistress  Mowbray." 

"A  parcel  from  Mistress  Mowbray;  how  strange!" 
and  the  little  smooth  white  brow  became  slightly  wrin- 
kled. 

Inside  she  found  a  note  and  a  second  wrapping.  The 
note  ran  as  follows, — 

To  Aline  Gillespie, 

Finding  that  others  are  concerned  about  your  garments  I 
have  made  it  my  duty  to  let  you  have  something  really  ap- 
propriate to  your  condition  at  Holwick  and  that  will  express 
the  feelings  with  which  I  shall  always  regard  you.  I  trust  you 
will  think  of  me  when  you  wear  the  necklace,  although  the  con- 
tents of  the  pendant  are  another's  gift. 

ELEANOR  MOWBBAY. 
X   Her  mark. 

"How  does  she  regard  me  and  what  is  appropriate  to 
my  condition?"  queried  Aline  as  she  undid  the  second 
wrapper. 

To  her  astonishment  and  amusement  it  contained  an 
old  potato-sack  made  into  the  shape  of  a  camise.  After 
what  Mistress  Mowbray  had  said  about  the  coarse  dow- 
las, Aline  was  half  inclined  to  believe  the  gift  was  genu- 
ine. But,  as  she  smiled,  there  fell  out  a  red  necklace 
made  of  small  pieces  of  carrot  with  an  enormous  potato 
as  a  pendant. 

"Now,  whoever  has  done  this?"  she  cried,  breaking 
into  a  merry  peal  and  looking  at  Audry  and  Elspeth. 

They  both  shook  their  heads. 


152  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

She  examined  the  potato  and  found  that  it  had  been 
scooped  out  and  held  a  packet  very  tightly  rolled  up, 
within  which  was  a  piece  of  Walter's  choicest  lace.  On 
the  packet  was  written, ' '  To  Somebody  from  Somebody 's 
enemy." 

"From  whose  enemy?" — said  Aline, — "Mine?" 

"  'Who  chased  whom  round  the  walls  of  what?'  "  Au- 
dry  observed.  ' '  I  expect  the  two  somebodies  are  not  the 
same. ' ' 

' '  Well,  but  whom  is  it  from  ? ' ' 

At  this  moment  Aline  caught  sight  of  the  upper  part 
of  a  head  trying  to  peep  round  the  door.  It  vanished 
instantly. 

She  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  gave  chase  down 
the  newel-stairs.  Bound  and  round  and  round  lightly 
flashed  the  little  feet  and  she  could  hear  great  heavy 
footsteps  at  much  longer  intervals  going  down,  appar- 
ently three  steps  at  a  time,  some  way  below  her. 

She  reached  the  bottom  just  in  time  to  see  the  figure 
of  Silas  dash  into  the  screens ;  but  he  vanished  altogether 
before  she  had  time  to  catch  him  and  thank  him  for 
what  was  obviously  his  gift. 

The  next  day  after  dinner  Aline  ran  out  gaily  across 
the  quadrangle,  lightly  reached  the  eighth  step  in  two 
bounds,  covering  the  remaining  step  and  the  terrace  in 
two  more,  and  was  in  the  library  ready  to  prosecute  her 
search.  She  had  a  long  hunt  for  the  Latin  Bible  in 
which  after  much  diligence  she  was  successful. 

She  then  thought  that  she  would  try  the  key  of  the 
old  chest  and  on  opening  it  found  it  half  full  of  ancient 
parchments  concerning  the  estate.  She  discovered  that 
they  were  quite  interesting,  but  she  did  not  linger  look- 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  153 

ing  at  them  just  then.  The  chest  was  divided  one-third 
of  the  way  from  the  front  longitudinally  up  to  about 
half  its  height  and  it  was  possible  to  put  all  the  parch- 
ments into  the  front  half. 

Aline  moved  all  the  papers  and  then  got  into  the  back 
part  of  the  chest  to  see  what  it  felt  like,  before  she  did 
anything  else.  Just  as  she  did  so,  she  heard  the  library 
door  open  and  her  blood  ran  cold.  In  a  flash  she  won- 
dered whether  it  would  be  better  to  get  out  of  the  chest 
or  to  shut  the  lid.  She  decided  on  the  latter,  and  was 
just  able  to  shut  down  the  lid  quietly  when  she  heard 
the  footsteps  that  had  first  gone  into  the  other  part  of 
the  library  turn  back  in  her  direction.  She  had  luckily 
taken  the  key  in  her  hand  with  which  the  chest  could  be 
locked  on  the  inside  and  succeeded  in  fastening  it  with 
hardly  any  noise. 

The  steps  approached  the  chest  and  then  a  voice  said, 
"I  thought  Aline  was  in  here; — and  what  was  that 
noise?" 

It  was  Audry 's  voice  so  Aline  ventured  to  laugh. 

"Good  gracious,  what  is  that?"  exclaimed  Audry,  and 
after  a  click  the  lid  of  the  chest,  to  her  still  greater  as- 
tonishment, lifted  itself  up.  She  sprang  back  and  then 
in  her  turn  broke  into  laughter,  as  Aline 's  head  emerged 
from  the  chest. 

"What  a  fright  you  gave  me!"  said  each  of  the  chil- 
dren simultaneously,  and  then  they  both  laughed  again. 

"You  dear  thing,  Aline,"  and  Audry  flung  her  arms 
round  her  cousin.  "Oh,  I  am  glad  that  it  is  you,  but 
you  must  be  very  careful  about  that  kist;  I  do  not 
think  that  we  had  better  use  it  unless  one  of  us  is  on 
guard.  How  did  you  find  the  key?" 


154  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Cousin  Richard  gave  it  me;  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  but 
he  does  not  know  anything  about  the  secret  room  as, 
oddly  enough,  he  happened  to  say,  when  speaking  of 
secret  drawers,  that  he  did  not  think  that  old  James 
Mowbray  had  any  fancies  of  that  kind." 

"He  would  have  found  that  he  had  rather  elaborate 
fancies  of  that  kind  if  he  knew  what  we  know,  would 
he  not,  you  little  wonder-girl; — what  adventures  you 
do  have ; — whatever  will  you  drag  me  into  next  ? ' ' 

"Anyhow  I  never  had  adventures  till  I  met  you,  so 
perhaps  it  is  due  to  you." 

"Oh,  no,  you,  not  I,  are  the  wonder-girl  right  enough; 
you  have  great  adventures  by  yourself." 

"Let  us  come  down  and  see  Ian,"  said  Aline. 

"All  right;  you  go  down  this  way,"  Audry  replied. 
"I  want  to  know  how  it  acts;  I'll  wait  to  see  you  safe 
down  and  then  I  will  go  round  the  other  way. ' ' 

"No,  you  would  like  to  try  the  new  way;  I  will  go 
round." 

"Thank  you,  very  well." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  children  met  again  in  the 
secret  room,  and  Audry  explained  how  simple  and  con- 
venient the  new  way  was. 

Aline  then  produced  the  Bible  and  after  a  little  talk 
she  read  several  chapters,  translating  as  she  went. 

It  was  a  new  world  to  the  children  and  Ian  watched 
their  faces  eagerly  as  she  read. 

Audry,  in  her  impulsive  way,  was  taken  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  story.  Aline,  who  was  an  unusually 
thoughtful  child,  was  surprised,  but  reserved  her 
opinion. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  many  such  readings.     At  first 


SWORDS  AND  QUESTIONINGS  155 

Ian  said  nothing;  but,  when  they  had  finished  reading 
two  of  the  gospels  and  began  to  ask  questions,  he  talked 
with  them  and  explained  many  difficulties.  What 
amazed  Aline  was  the  entire  absence  of  any  allusion  to 
any  of  the  ceremonial  that  had  seemed  to  her  young  mind 
to  form  so  large  a  part  of  religion.  Also  the  simplicity 
of  the  appeal,  to  come  directly  to  the  divine  without  any 
intermediary,  attracted  her  greatly  in  a  way  that  per- 
haps it  would  not  have  done  when  the  old  parish  priest 
of  her  earlier  days  was  a  really  beloved  friend. 

Ian  was  disturbed  in  mind;  he  saw  that  the  children 
were  gradually  but  surely  being  influenced  and  that  the 
old  faith  would  never  be  the  same  again.  But  it  must 
mean  trouble  and  affliction ;  the  district  where  they  were 
was  staunchly  Catholic,  and  the  measures  that  Mary's 
advisers  were  taking  were  stern  and  cruel.  That  little 
face  with  its  associations  of  bygone  years,  and  its  own 
magical  attractive  power  that  seemed  to  hold  all  but  a 
few  of  every  one  with  whom  Aline  came  into  contact! 
How  could  he  bring  lines  of  pain  there  ?  And  yet  how 
could  he  withhold  what  meant  so  much  to  himself,  this 
which  seemed  to  be  a  new  and  living  light?  Then  that 
awful  vision  of  George  Wishart  rose  up  again  before  him 
and  with  a  vivid  intensity  he  thought  he  saw  the  form  of 
little  Aline  standing  by  him  in  the  heart  of  the  flames. 
There  was  too  that  awful  prophecy  of  the  horrible  old 
woman  about  Aline 's  path  being  through  the  fire. 
Surely  there  could  be  nothing  in  it?  The  perspiration 
stood  on  lan's  brow:  he  caught  his  breath.  Slowly  the 
vision  cleared  away  and  there  were  the  children  seated 
before  him.  What  if  things,  however,  should  come  to 
this !  His  very  soul  was  in  agony  torn  this  way  and  that. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"MOLL,  o'  THE  GRAVES" 

HOLWICK  generally  pursued  the  even  tenour 
of  its  way  from  year's  end  to  year's  end, 
with  nothing  more  eventful  than  a  birth,  a 
death  or  a  marriage.  Aline 's  adventure  therefore,  was 
likely  to  remain  a  staple  topic  of  conversation  for  many 
years.  But  now  there  was  a  strange  feeling  in  the 
air  as  though  something  further  were  going  to  happen. 
An  atmosphere  of  uneasiness  enveloped  the  place,  an 
atmosphere  oppressive  like  a  day  before  a  thunderstorm. 
It  was  nothing  definite,  nothing  explicable,  but  every 
one  seemed  conscious  of  it;  it  pervaded  Holwick,  it  per- 
vaded Newbiggin  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Ian 
and  the  children  were  particularly  aware  of  it.  The 
placid  life  of  the  Tees  Valley  was  to  be  stirred  by  things 
at  least  as  striking  as  Andrew's  villainy. 

It  might  have  been  old  Moll's  ravings,  it  might  have 
been  the  stirrings  of  religious  troubles  that  had  started 
the  apprehension;  but  there  it  was,  something  not  im- 
mediate but  delayed,  a  presentiment  too  vague  even  to 
be  discussed. 

One  day  Thomas  Woolridge  was  walking  down  from 
the  Hall  through  the  rocky  ravine  under  Holwick 
Crags.  It  was  a  dull  grey  day  with  a  strong  wind, 
and  the  rocks  seemed  to  tower  up  with  an  oppressive 
austerity  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  size.  He  was 

156 


"MOLL  0'  THE  GRAVES"  157 

in  a  gloomy  frame  of  mind  and  kicked  at  the  stones  in 
his  path,  sullenly  watching  them  leap  and  bound  down 
the  hill. 

' '  Steadily  there,  neighbour, ' '  said  a  voice  from  below, 
"do  you  want  to  kill  some  one?"  and  the  head  of  Silas 
Morgan,  the  farm-reeve,  appeared  above  the  rocks 
beneath. 

"Methinks  I  should  not  mind  an  I  did,"  answered 
Thomas,  "provided  it  were  one  of  the  right  sort.  I 
am  tired  of  slaving  away  under  other  folks'  orders. 
Who  are  they  that  they  should  have  a  better  time  than 
I  have,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"They  all  have  their  orders  too,  man;  who  do  you 
think  you  are  that  you  should  have  it  all  your  own 
way?  There  is  Master  Mowbray,  now,  who -has  just 
set  forth  to  York,  because  the  Sheriff  bade  him." 

"And  a  fine  cursing  and  swearing  there  was  too, 
I'll  warrant  ye,"  said  Thomas.  "Master  Mowbray  doth 
not  mince  matters  when  he  starts  a-going." 

"No,  but  he  doth  not  pull  a  face  as  long  as  a  base- 
viol.  Thomas,  if  so  be  that  I  had  a  face  like  yours, 
I  would  put  my  hat  on  it  and  walk  backwards.  Be  of 
good  cheer,  you  rascal,  no  one  doth  as  he  pleaseth  from 
the  Queen's  grace  downwards." 

"That  may  be  so,  neighbour,  but  you'll  not  deny  that 
some  have  an  unfair  share  of  this  world's  gear." 

"No,  by  my  troth,  that  is  so;  but  I  do  not  see  how 
you  are  going  to  set  it  right.  Besides,  oddsfish,  man! 
you  would  never  even  get  as  large  a  share  as  you  do, 
you  lazy  varlet,  if  you  got  what  was  meet.  I  have  never 
seen  you  do  a  stroke  of  work  that  you  could  avoid"; 
and  Silas  gave  Thomas  a  dig  in  the  ribs. 


158  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Here  now,  sirrah,  you  let  me  alone,"  Thomas  said 
gruffly.  ''Why  should  we  not  all  fare  alike?" 

"All  fare  alike,  old  sulky  face!  Not  for  me,  I  thank 
you.  I  would  not  work  for  a  discontented  windbag 
like  you.  What's  your  particular  grumble  just  now?" 

"I'm  not  grumbling." 

"Not  at  all,  you  are  saying  what  a  happy  life  it  is, 
and  how  glad  you  are  to  see  your  fellow  creatures 
enjoying  themselves." 

Thomas  lifted  a  stone  and  threw  it,  but  Silas  jumped 
aside  and  it  flew  down  the  rocks. 

"I'm  not  grumbling  so  much  at  the  Mowbrays,  but 
at  that  Gillespie-wench.  There  have  always  been  Mow- 
brays  up  there;  but  that  wench,  she  has  nothing  of 
her  own,  why  should  she  not  addle  her  bread  the 
same  as  you  or  I.  One  day  she  had  the  impertinence 
to  start  ordering  me  about  and  made  old  Edward  and 
myself  look  a  pair  of  fools.  The  old  ass  did  not  mind, 
but  I  did  and  I  am  not  going  to  forget.  I  am  sick  of 
these  craven  villagers  louting  *  and  curtseying  at  the 
minx  and  she  no  better  than  any  of  us.  She  gets  on 
my  nerves,  pardy!  with  her  pretty  angel  face." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  admit  you  are  grumbling  at 
something,  but  you  have  less  cause  to  grumble  at  Mis- 
tress Aline  than  any  one  in  Holwick,  you  graceless  loon. 
So  here's  something  else  to  grumble  at";  and  Silas 
gave  Thomas  a  sudden  push  which  made  him  roll  over, 
and  then  he  ran  off  laughing. 

"You  unneighbourly  ruffian.  I'll  pay  you  out,"  said 
Thomas,  as  he  ruefully  picked  himself  up  and  started 
down  the  steep. 

*  The  earlier  form  of  curtsey. 


"MOLL  0'  THE  GRAVES"  159 

He  went  on  to  the  hamlet  and,  on  his  way  back,  he 
met  Aline,  who  was  going  down  to  see  Joan  Moulton. 
Beyond  all  expectations,  by  getting  Audry  to  sue  for 
her,  Aline  had  arranged  that  Joan  should  be  moved  to 
Durham  and  she  was  going  to  pay  her  last  visit. 

"It's  a  fine  day,  Mistress  Aline,"  observed  Thomas 
as  he  reached  her.  ' '  I  hope  you  are  keeping  well.  The 
falcon  is  doing  splendidly,  I  notice.  I  shall  never  for- 
get your  kindness  to  me.  By  the  way,  I  found  some 
white  heather  the  other  day,  and  I  meant  to  tell  you 
I  took  up  the  root  and  transplanted  it  in  your  garden." 

"Oh,  was  that  you,  Thomas?  You  are  good;  I 
noticed  it  at  once,  but  somehow  I  thought  it  was  Mis- 
tress Audry 's  doings.  I  love  white  heather." 

"I  am  fain  it  pleaseth  you;  well,  good  day,  Mistress 
Aline,  there  is  no  time  to  waste  and  some  of  us  have 
to  work  very  hard  betimes." 

On  the  way  up  to  the  Hall,  just  before  he  reached  the 
crags  of  the  ravine  he  saw  some  one  else.  It  was  old 
"Moll  o'  the  graves." 

"How  now,  neighbour,"  he  said,  "I  have  not  seen 
you  for  a  long  time,  but  what's  the  good  of  your  hocus 
pocus?  Where's  that  fine  hank  of  wool  I  gave  you, 
and  those  two  cheeses  and  the  boll  of  meal?  That 
Gillespie  bitch  is  still  running  round ;  and  you  said  that 
before  a  year  was  away  she  would  be  gone.  But  An- 
drew's little  play  didn't  work,  damn  the  fellow.  She's 
alive  yet,  I  tell  you,"  and  he  put  his  hand  on  the  old 
woman's  shoulder  as  though  to  shake  her. 

"Hands  off,  you  coward,"  said  the  old  hag.  "Why 
do  you  not  do  your  own  dirty  work?  Andrew  was 
worth  half  a  dozen  of  you.  Pah,  you  devil's  spawn! 


160  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

If  you  touch  me  I'll  burn  your  entrails  with  fire,  day 
and  night,  and  send  you  shrieking  and  praying  for  your 
own  death.  But  I  tell  you,  that  skelpie  may  not  have 
to  die  by  water.  There  are  other  ways  of  dying  than 
being  drowned.  I  cannot  read  all  the  future,  but  you 
mark  my  word,  and  I  have  never  been  wrong  yet,  she 
will  be  gone  by  the  time  I  named.  Little  Joan  will  go 
as  I  said ;  and  if  we  are  safely  rid  of  one  you  need  not 
fear  for  the  other.  The  stars  in  their  courses  fight  on 
our  side,"  and  she  laughed  an  evil  laugh.  "There  is 
no  room  in  this  world  for  your  weak-minded  gentle 
creatures,  bah !  cowards,  worms,  with  their  snivelling 
pity.  Does  nature  feel  pity  when  the  field  mouse  is 
killed  by  the  hawk?  Does  nature  feel  pity  when  a 
mother  dies  of  the  plague?  Does  God  feel  pity  when 
we  starve  a  child  or  beat  it  to  death?  Let  him  show 
his  pity  for  the  victims  of  disease,  for  the  beings  he 
has  brought  into  the  world,  humpbacked,  blind,  halt, 
imbecile,  ha!  ha!  ha!  No,  the  forces  on  our  side  are 
the  stronger,  and  the  innocent,  the  gentle  and  loving 
must  go.  I  hate  innocence,  I  hate  love;  and  hate  will 
triumph  in  the  end. 

"Do  you  think  I  love  you,  you  coward?"  and  she 
advanced  slowly  as  though  to  clutch  his  throat  with  her 
skinny  hand,  laughing  her  demoniacal  laugh.  "You  are 
on  our  side,  but  you  are  a  worm; — Thomas,  I  spit  at 
you,  begone." 

Thomas  looked  at  her  in  terror  and  slunk  away  till 
the  old  woman's  mocking  laughter  grew  fainter. 
"Faugh!  she  was  mad — mad — what  did  it  matter? 
And  yet,  suppose  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  put  a 
spell  on  him,  the  same  as  she  had  done  on  little  Joan! 


"MOLL  0'  THE  GRAVES"  161 

What  then?  But  he  would  be  even  with  Aline  yet; 
Andrew  was  a  clumsy  bungler,  he  would  see  if  he  could 
not  secure  a  more  efficient  agent." 

Thomas  had  allowed  his  imagination  to  dwell  round 
his  grievance  against  Aline  until  it  had  grown  to  colos- 
sal dimensions.  She  could  not  even  smile  on  any  one 
without  him  reckoning  it  up  against  her  as  an  offence. 
The  thing  was  becoming  an  obsession  with  him. 

But  what  did  the  old  crone  mean?  Something  cer- 
tainly was  going  to  happen;  did  it  involve  Thomas, 
or  was  he  himself  to  be  unaffected  by  the  play  of  forces  ? 
The  feeling  was  unpleasant  and  he  could  not  shake  it  off. 

After  meeting  Thomas,  Aline  had  gone  on  to  Peter's 
cottage.  She  found  that  the  dying  child  was  weaker 
than  ever,  but  she  still  seemed  to  cling  tenaciously  to 
life.  She  raised  herself  a  little  when  Aline  came  in 
and  her  eyes  shone  with  an  unnatural  brightness. 

"I  shall  never  see  you  any  more,  Aline,"  she  said. 
"And  I  have  several  things  that  I  want  to  say  to  you. 
They  are  going  to  take  me  away.  I  know  they  mean  to 
be  kind,  yet  I  would  rather  have  died  quietly  here. 
But  listen,  it  is  not  about  that  that  I  want  to  talk," 
the  child  went  on  excitedly. 

' '  Hush,  dear, ' '  said  Aline,  taking  the  small  frail  hand 
in  her  own  and  stroking  it,  ' '  you  will  tire  yourself  out. ' ' 

"Can  you  put  your  hand  under  my  pillow,  Aline? 
You  will  find  there  a  little  packet." 

Aline  did  as  she  was  asked. 

"Now  undo  it." 

She  opened  the  small  parcel  and  found  in  it  half  a 
groat  that  had  been  broken  in  two,  a  child's  spinning 
top  and  a  short  lock  of  dark  curly  brown  hair. 


162  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"He  was  my  playmate,"  said  Joan,  "and  he  used  to 
help  me  every  day  to  carry  the  water  from  the  spring 
up  to  the  house,  and  he  said  that  when  he  was  a  big  man 
he  would  marry  me.  I  know  I  am  going  to  die  soon 
and  no  one  loves  me  but  you,  so  I  want  to  give  you 
my  secret." 

"0  Joan,  darling,  you  must  not  talk  like  that,"  and 
Aline  stooped  and  kissed  the  sad  little  face  on  the 
pillow,  while  her  tears,  in  spite  of  herself,  would  keep 
welling  up  and  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

A  faint  little  smile  spread  over  Joan's  face  as  her 
thoughts  wandered  away  back  to  the  old  times  in  Kir- 
koswald  and  talking  half  to  herself  and  half  to  Aline 
she  said:  "His  name  was  Wilfred  Johnstone.  Oh! 
Wilfred,  Wilfred,  if  only  I  could  kiss  you  good-bye !  but 
I  shall  leave  your  top  and  the  half  groat  and  your  dear 
hair  with  my  beautiful  little  lady,  and  some  day  she  may 
see  you  and  give  them  back  and  say  good-bye  for  me. ' ' 

"0  Aline,"  she  went  on,  trying  to  raise  herself  as 
she  put  her  arms  round  her  neck — "give  him  this  kiss 
for  me  and  say  that  if  I  had  grown  up  I  would  have 
been  his  little  wife  as  I  promised";  then,  pressing  a 
kiss  on  Aline 's  lips,  she  fell  back  exhausted  on  the 
bed. 

"I  will  do  everything  you  ask,"  said  Aline,  and  sat 
by  her  for  a  long  time,  but  the  child  did  not  speak  again. 

At  last  the  evening  began  to  get  dark  and  Aline 
knew  she  must  be  getting  home.  "Good-bye,  sweet 
Joan,"  she  said  and  for  the  last  time  printed  a  kiss  on 
the  child's  forehead.  "I  wish  you  could  have  said 
good-bye,"  and  she  turned  to  the  door. 

As    she    turned    Joan's   eyes   half   opened.    "Good- 


"MOLL  0'  THE  GRAVES"  163 

bye,"  she  murmured,  and  Aline  went  sadly  from  the 
house. 

"They  are  going  to  take  her  away  from  me  and  I 
believe  I  love  her  even  more  than  Audry,  but  it  is  all 
meant  for  the  best.  Oh,  I  hope  and  I  hope  that  that 
horrid  old  witch  was  not  telling  the  truth." 

Aline  lay  awake  for  a  long  time  that  night  thinking 
of  Joan  and  old  Moll  and  wondering  how  she  would  find 
Wilfred  Johnstone ;  and  when  she  slept  she  still  dreamed 
of  her  little  friend. 

The  next  morning  they  carried  Joan  away  on  a  litter. 
The  journey  was  to  be  made  in  three  stages  of  a  day 
each.  Aline  would  have  liked  to  see  her  off,  but  unfor- 
tunately Master  Richard  had  specially  arranged  to  take 
the  children  with  him  on  a  long  expedition  and  make  an 
early  start,  and  he  did  not  wish  any  interference  with 
his  plans. 

He  had  been  so  very  kind  in  making  the  elaborate 
arrangements  about  Joan's  journey  and  future  welfare 
that  Aline  did  not  like  to  say  anything,  though  it  cost 
her  a  pang. 

They  mounted  from  the  old  "louping  on  stone"  in 
the  lower  courtyard  and  were  not  long  reaching  Middle- 
ton.  Master  Richard  had  some  business  in  Middleton, 
and  afterward  they  turned  up  the  left  bank  of  the 
Tees. 

It  was  another  grey  day,  but  the  water  looked  won- 
derfully beautiful  down  below  them,  and  Holwick 
crags  rose  majestically  away  to  the  left.  The  bleakness 
of  the  surrounding  country  enhanced  the  richness  of 
the  river  valley;  but  the  wild  spirit  of  the  hills  seemed 
to  dominate  the  whole. 


164  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

On  the  way  they  passed  through  the  village  of  New- 
biggin.  It  consisted  almost  wholly  of  rude  stone  cot- 
tages and  byres.  "We  have  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
here,"  remarked  Richard  Mowbray.  "They  are  a 
curiously  lawless  lot;  it  is  not  only  their  poaching  but 
there  is  much  thieving  of  other  kinds.  Their  beasts  too 
are  a  nuisance,  straying,  as  they  pretend,  on  our  Middle- 
ton  property.  A  murrain  on  them!  My  tenant  there, 
Master  Milnes,  is  very  indignant  about  it  and  is  sure 
that  it  is  not  accidental.  He  also  makes  great  com- 
plaint about  continual  damage  to  the  dykes.  Mistress 
Mowbray  is  determined  to  have  the  whole  nest  of  them 
cleared  out." 

"But  the  village  does  not  belong  to  you,  does  it, 
Cousin  Richard?" 

"No,  there  are  three  properties  besides  mine  that 
meet  there,  the  Duke  of  Alston's,  Lord  Middleton's  and 
Master  Gower's." 

"Then  how  are  you  going  to  do  anything?" 

"Oh,  Mistress  Mowbray  saw  Lord  Middleton,  and 
he  has  arranged  that  his  reeve  and  the  Duke's  shall 
come  over  to  Holwick  and  meet  Master  Gower  and  our- 
selves. I  do  not  expect  there  will  be  any  difficulty." 

Aline  thought  it  was  rather  a  high  handed  proceed- 
ing, but  she  said  nothing.  She  looked  at  the  little  cot- 
tages and  then  her  thoughts  flew  over  to  the  cottage 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  that  Joan  had  just  left. 
She  wondered  rather  pathetically  whether  nearly  all  life 
was  sad  like  her  own  and  Joan's  and  lan's.  Did  every 
one  of  these  cottages  mean  a  sad  story?  It  would 
certainly  be  a  sad  story  to  be  turned  out  of  one 's 
home.  Here  was  a  new  trouble  for  her.  "Was  it  true," 


"MOLL  O'  THE  GRAVES"  165 

she  thought,  "that  all  these  people  were  as  bad  as 
Cousin  Richard  supposed?" 

Suddenly  Audry  exclaimed,  "Look — there  goes  old 
Moll." 

As  they  overtook  her  she  stopped  and  shook  her  staff 
after  them,  crying, — "Maidens  that  ride  high  horses 
to-day  eat  bitter  bread  upon  the  morrow." 

Master  Mowbray  did  not  catch  what  she  said,  but 
Aline  heard  and  again  felt  that  peculiar  shudder  that 
she  could  not  explain. 

A  week  or  two  later  the  words  came  back  to  her  with 
bitter  meaning  indeed.  Joan  safely  reached  her  des- 
tination and  the  first  news  that  came  from  Durham 
was  hopeful ;  but  shortly  afterwards  the  news  was  worse 
and  then  suddenly  came  word  that  she  was  dead. 

Aline  put  the  little  packet  carefully  away  in  the 
ambry.  She  did  not  tell  any  one,  not  even  Audry,  but 
some  day  she  hoped  to  carry  out  the  child's  request. 
There  was  too  much  misery  in  the  world,  she  must  see 
what  she  could  do.  Perhaps  she  might  begin  by  doing 
something  for  the  people  of  Newbiggin.  At  least  she 
could  find  out  what  was  the  real  truth  of  the  case. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

COMING   EVENTS   CAST    SHADOWS 

IT  was  a  fine  moonlight  night  and  Ian  was  pacing 
up  and  down  by  the  side  of  the  stream.  He 
walked  very  fast,  partly  because  the  season  was 
getting  cold  and  partly  to  calm  his  mind.  He  was 
agitated  concerning  the  future  and  troubled  not  only 
about  himself  but  about  Aline.  He  was  now  distinctly 
better  in  health  and  felt  that  he  would  soon  be  well 
enough  to  leave  Holwick  Hall.  There  were  many  diffi- 
culties. First  there  was  the  immediate  danger  of 
getting  away  unseen.  Then  when  he  had  performed 
his  mission  in  Carlisle  there  was  the  problem  of  the 
future.  He  would  be  safer  in  Scotland,  but  he  did  not 
want  to  be  too  far  away  from  Aline.  She  might  need  his 
help. 

Again  he  felt  that  sense  of  apprehension,  almost  of 
terror;  something  was  going  to  happen,  but  what? 
Which  way  was  he  to  meet  it  ?  This  threatening,  uncer- 
tain atmosphere,  what  did  it  portend  ? 

Aline  seemed  touched  by  it.  He  had  not  spoken  to 
her  about  it,  but  he  had  noticed  it  in  her  manner;  in- 
deed they  seemed  mutually  aware  of  it  as  he  looked 
into  her  eyes. 

In  any  case  he  could  not  go  to  his  father's  house. 
Should  he  go  to  Scotland  at  all?  The  country  he  knew 

166 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        167 

was  in  great  confusion,  torn  between  her  fear  of  France 
and  the  Regent,  Mary  of  Guise,  on  the  one  hand  and 
her  hatred  of  England  on  the  other. 

He  was  strongly  tempted  to  go  and  fight,  if  fighting 
were  to  be  done,  and  the  very  documents  that  he  carried 
might  be  the  things  that  would  bring  matters  to  a  head. 
On  the  other  hand  if  there  were  no  fighting  he  felt 
drawn  to  do  something  more  for  the  faith.  He  had 
no  home  duties  and  he  hated  inactivity.  At  last  he 
settled  the  matter.  Of  course  the  papers  were  to  be 
safely  delivered  first,  but  neither  the  fighting  in  Scot- 
land nor  Aline 's  need  for  his  help  could  be  reckoned 
on  as  a  certainty.  He  would  stay  in  Carlisle  and  be  in 
reach  of  both.  As  for  the  reformed  faith  he  had  for 
some  time  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  calling  of  a 
packman  offered  the  best  opportunities  for  spreading 
the  word.  This,  however,  would  require  money  which 
at  present  he  had  not  got.  He  would  therefore  try  and 
find  work  as  a  smith  or  a  carpenter  in  Carlisle  until 
he  had  saved  the  money. 

That  matter  was  settled  then ;  and  his  health  was  now 
such  that  his  departure  must  not  be  long  delayed.  He 
stood  still  and  looked  up  at  the  clear  sky.  The  roar 
of  the  waterfall  not  half  a  mile  away  filled  the  silence 
of  the  night.  It  was  very  peaceful  and  the  hills  were 
.bathed  in  a  sad  mysterious  beauty.  But  through  all 
the  calm  lurked  a  suggestion  of  dread. 

Dare  he  leave  the  child  behind  at  all  ?  Yet  if  he  took 
,her  he  would  be  putting  her  to  greater  risks  every  mo- 
ment than  the  worst  she  could  suffer  from  Mistress 
Mowbray.  Besides  how  could  the  expenses  be  met;  for 
the  scheme  would  be  impossible  without  horses;  as, 


168  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

although  he  himself  could  escape  alone  on  foot,  immedi- 
ately Aline  disappeared  a  hue  and  cry  would  be  raised  ? 
His  mind  grew  tired  with  thinking  and  finally  he  began 
to  build  wild  castles  in  the  air,  in  which  he  took  the 
child  with  him  on  foot  and  fought  pursuer  after  pur- 
suer, until  he  was  slain  himself,  not  however  before  he 
had  managed  to  put  Aline  into  a  sure  place  of  safety 
and  happiness. 

He  had  wandered  rather  further  than  usual  down 
the  stream  and  decided  that  he  had  better  turn  back; 
moreover  it  was  late  and  it  would  soon  be  daylight. 
He  retraced  his  steps  until  he  came  within  a  few  paces 
of  the  opening  that  led  to  the  cave  and  was  intending 
to  enter,  when  he  caught  sight  of  a  dark  figure  seated 
under  a  small  birch  tree  that  had  found  a  sheltering 
place  in  this  hollow  on  the  bleak  moor. 

It  was  a  woman  and  she  was  watching  him.  The 
shock  was  so  sudden  that  he  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  preserving  his  presence  of  mind.  He  decided  to 
continue  in  the  direction  he  was  going  as  though  bound 
on  some  definite  journey. 

"You  like  the  night-air,  stranger,  for  your  travels," 
she  said  in  a  shrill  voice.  She  evidently  did  not  mean 
to  let  him  pass  her. 

"Ay,  mother,"  he  said,  "a  night  like  this  is  as  good 
for  travel  as  the  day." 

He  gathered  at  once  who  it  was  from  Aline 's  descrip- 
tion. It  was  "Moll  o'  the  graves,"  and  she  seemed  to 
rivet  him  to  the  spot  with  the  gaze  of  her  unholy,  but 
still  beautiful  eyes.  She  was  holding  a  bone  in  her 
claw-like  hands  and  was  gnawing  the  flesh  off  it.  He 
could  not  help  noticing  that  she  yet  had  excellent  teeth. 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        169 

Could  she  by  any  chance  know  who  he  was?  In  any 
case  she  had  seen  him  now,  so  he  might  stand  and  see 
if  he  could  draw  her  out.  However,  she  went  on, — 
"I've  heard  physicians  recommend  the  night  air  for 
travellers  with  a  sick  conscience." 

"Then  if  that  be  the  case,"  he  answered,  "it  might 
apply  to  you  as  well  as  to  me." 

"Perhaps  it  may,"  she  said,  "but  I  enjoy  the  fresh 
night  air  for  its  own  sake : — 

O  Moon  that  watches  from  the  sky, 
We  see  strange  things,  the  moon  and  I." 

crooned  the  old  woman,  beating  time  with  her  staff. 

"Do  you  know  this  part  of  the  world?"  she  said 
suddenly. 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  do,"  he  answered. 

"Then  you  miss  things  that  are  worth  knowing. 
There  are  all  manners  of  folk  about  here  from  the 
Master  of  Holwick  to  miser  Simson,  from  bullying 
Eleanor  Mowbray  to  gentle  Janet  Arnside,  and  from 
tough,  withered,  bloodless  old  Elspeth  to  fresh  tender 
morsels  like  Aline  that  dropped  in  the  moat,"  she  said 
as  she  grinned,  shewing  her  teeth,  ' '  and  I  know  the  for- 
tunes of  them  all." 

The  old  woman  was  eyeing  him  keenly,  but  he  man- 
aged to  betray  no  particular  interest. 

He  thought,  however,  that  he  had  better  move  away 
lest  she  should  ask  him  such  questions  that  he  would 
lose  more  than  anything  he  would  gain  from  talking  to 
her.  He  was  thankful  she  had  not  seen  him  go  into 
the  cave. 

"I  think  I  must  be  moving  on,"  he  said. 


170  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Will  you  not  wait  and  hear  your  future  told?" 

"No,  I  thank  you;  that  can  bide." 

"It's  not  good  anyhow,"  said  old  Moll  with  a  vin- 
dictive light  in  her  eyes,  "it  begins  with  heartache  and 
goes  on  to  worse." 

"Good  night  to  you,"  said  Ian  and  started  up  the 
gully. 

"Are  you  not  coming  back  to  your  hiding  place  in 
there?"  the  old  woman  called  maliciously.  "I  saw  you 
come  out  and  I  shall  be  sitting  here  till  you  come  back. ' ' 

"Horrible  old  villain,"  he  said  to  himself,  but  he 
called  out,  "No,  it's  all  right  for  a  temporary  shelter, 
but  no  one  could  stay  there." 

Things  indeed  looked  serious,  how  was  he  to  get  back  ? 
But  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  not  saying  good- 
bye to  the  children.  Besides  they  absolutely  must  know 
that  part  of  their  secret  had  been  discovered. 

He  decided  that  unless  the  old  hag  roused  his  pur- 
suers he  was  fairly  safe;  he  could  keep  out  of  sight  in 
bog-holes  or  the  like  during  the  day.  If  some  one  came 
very  near,  he  must  chance  it  and  move  on.  True  there 
was  some  risk,  but  Aline  must  know. 

The  old  woman  was  in  the  hollow  where  she  could 
not  see  him;  so  he  crept  round  and  hid  himself  where 
he  could  watch  without  being  observed. 

When  daylight  came  he  saw  her  rise  and  go  into  the 
outer  cave;  but  he  could  not  see  what  further  she  did. 

She  then  came  back  and  sat  down.  Hours  passed  on, 
but  she  did  not  move.  About  mid-day  she  produced  a 
small  sack  from  under  her  kirtle  and  took  something 
out  and  gnawed  at  it  as  before.  She  did  the  same  again 
towards  evening. 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        171 

Ian  felt  faint  and  hungry,  but  determined  not  to  give 
in,  even  if  he  had  to  wait  another  night,  though  as  he 
would  have  to  go  some  twenty  miles  before  he  dared 
ask  for  food,  his  plight  was  becoming  desperate. 

He  crept  quite  close  to  her  on  the  bare  chance  of  her 
going  to  sleep  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  be  quite  sure 
of  it  and  be  able  to  slip  past. 

However,  toward  sunset  he  heard  her  mutter  to  her- 
self,— "Well,  I  cannot  wait  any  more,  it  will  be  too 
cold."  She  rose  and  hobbled  over  to  the  cave,  where 
she  broke  down  a  light  switch  and  bent  it  across  the 
entrance,  as  though  it  had  accidentally  been  done  by 
the  wind  or  some  animal. 

She  started  a  step  or  two  down  the  little  gully  and 
then  came  back  to  her  resting  place  and  looked  about. 
She  picked  up  three  bones.  "They  might  tell  tales," 
she  murmured,  and,  hiding  them  under  her  mantle,  she 
walked  down  toward  the  river.  When  she  reached  the 
river  she  threw  the  bones  into  the  dark  water  and 
watched  them  sink.  But  this  Ian  did  not  see. 

When  Moll  had  gone,  Ian  went  back  to  the  secret 
room.  He  was  overwrought.  This  was  a  new  peril 
for  Aline  and  it  made  him  grasp  what  he  had  not  real- 
ised before, — that  if  the  children  were  caught  harbour- 
ing a  heretic  the  consequences  would  be  terrible  indeed. 
He  must  get  away  forthwith. 

He  went  to  bed,  but  he  could  not  sleep.  How  far 
had  he  really  been  wise  after  all,  to  say  anything  to 
Aline  about  the  new  faith?  She  certainly  was  a  most 
unusual  child,  but  perplexities  and  responsibilities 
might  even  be  too  much  for  an  adult. 

Was  not  my  first  instinct  right,  he  argued,  children 


172  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

are  too  delicate,  too  frail,  too  beautiful  to  be  flung  into 
the  anxieties  of  life?  There  is  a  good  deal  to  be  said 
even  for  the  priests,  he  reflected,  responsibility  may 
become  too  crushing  altogether. 

Then  too,  his  own  mind  was  not  at  ease  about  the 
course  that  things  were  taking,  either  in  Scotland  or 
England.  On  the  whole  he  felt  that  the  Protestants 
were  nearer  the  truth,  but  there  was  a  beauty  and  a 
spirituality  of  holiness  not  unconnected  with  the  beauty 
of  holiness  itself,  which  he  saw  in  the  old  faith  and 
which  he  was  not  willing  to  abandon. 

' '  I  would  not  have  a  faith  without  beauty, ' '  he  said ; 
"it  would  be  a  travesty  of  faith,  an  unlovely  thing  and 
no  faith  at  all.  If  we  do  not  consider  the  lilies  which 
we  have  seen,  we  shall  certainly  never  be  able  to  under- 
stand the  King  in  his  beauty  whom  we  have  not  seen; 
and,  of  a  surety,  this  child  flower  hath  lifted  me  higher 
than  any  other  experience  of  my  life. ' ' 

But  methinks  it  is  meet  that  both  sides  should  be 
presented,  and  some  day  we  may  grow  broad-minded 
enough  to  learn  each  from  the  other. 

He  lay  awake  most  of  the  night  so  that  when  the 
children  came  down  in  the  evening  he  was  looking  tired 
and  worn. 

They  came  in  slowly,  very  downcast  and  sad.  Sup- 
pose that  Ian  had  disappeared  for  good  and  that  they 
would  never  see  him  again!  He  was  seated  where  they 
could  not  see  him  at  once,  but  when  they  caught  sight 
of  him  they  both  rushed  forward. 

1  ' Oh,  you  are  here  safe  and  sound ;  what  has  happened  ? 
I  am  so  glad,"  said  both  in  a  breath.  Each  child  flung 
her  arms  round  him  and  kissed  him. 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        173 

"You  will  pull  my  head  off  if  you  are  not  careful," 
he  said,  laughing. 

"Oh,  you  did  give  us  a  terrible  fright,"  exclaimed 
Aline. 

"Yes,  we  came  and  found  the  room  empty,"  said 
Audry,  "and  we  hunted  all  down  the  passage  to  the 
cave  room ;  and  I  wanted  to  go  through,  but  Aline  said, 
'No,  there  is  evidently  something  wrong  and  it  might 
not  be  safe,  we  had  better  come  round  outside.'  ' 

"I    am    glad   you   were    cautious,"    Ian   interposed. 

"But  first  we  went  down  the  other  passage  and  found 
nothing,  and  then  we  set  out.  Aline  said  we  must  be 
very  careful  in  coming  near  the  cave,  so  we  crept  round 
very  slowly ;  and  suddenly,  what  do  you  think  we  saw  ? ' ' 

"Well,  what  did  you  see?" 

"We  saw  'Moll  o'  the  graves,'  "  said  Aline,  "and 
we  stooped  down  at  once  and  then  ran  away.  She  did 
not  see  us,  as  the  back  of  her  head  was  turned  our  way. ' ' 

"  I  'm  thankful  for  that, ' '  said  Ian,  and  then  recounted 
his  experiences.  He  omitted  the  bone  incident,  but  con- 
cluded by  saying, — "We  must  be  careful  about  that 
birch  twig.  She  evidently  set  it  as  a  trap." 

"Do  you  suppose  that  she  discovered  the  inner  cave, 
the  cave  room  itself?"  asked  Audry  apprehensively. 

"Not  at  all  likely,"  said  Ian.  "She  cannot  stand  up 
straight  even;  besides  she  was  not  there  long  enough; 
of  that  I  am  certain." 

Audry  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"But  she  may  tell  other  people,"  said  Ian.  "You 
must  keep  your  ears  open  very  carefully." 

It  was  an  awe  inspiring  prospect,  the  future  certainly 
was  not  reassuring. 


174  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

In  order  to  give  a  new  turn  to  the  conversation  Aline 
said: — "Do  you  know,  the  day  before  yesterday  I  went 
over  to  Newbiggin  and  talked  to  several  of  the  people? 
I  did  not  ask  any  questions,  but  they  told  me  a  great 
deal  of  themselves.  There  evidently  are  some  pretty 
fair  scoundrels  in  the  village,  even  on  their  own  show- 
ing." 

."What  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  Ian. 

' '  I  do  not  know  yet, ' '  she  said,  ' '  I  must  find  out  some 
more,  but  I  am  tolerably  sure  that  the  villains  are  in 
the  minority." 

"I  do  not  suppose  there  is  much  to  choose,"  said 
Audry.  "I  should  let  them  all  go.  Why  trouble  your- 
self?" 

"But,  Audry,"  Aline  objected,  "you  yourself  hate  un- 
fairness; and  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  Mistress  Mow- 
bray  having  her  own  way  with  those  who  are  innocent. ' ' 

"I  think,  also,  my  princess  enjoys  some  other  kinds 
of  fighting  than  with  foils,"  Ian  interposed. 

"Well,  perhaps  there's  a  little  bit  in  that  too;  my 
father  was  a  fighter." 

' '  Somehow,  little  one, ' '  said  Ian,  ' '  I  cannot  help  wish- 
ing you  would  leave  it  alone.  I  feel  you  would  be 
better  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  Newbiggin.  It  sounds 
very  silly,  but  old  Moll  lives  in  Newbiggin,  and  I  have 
a  strange  dread  of  it  that  I  cannot  explain." 

"That  is  very  curious,"  said  Audry,  "so  have  I. 
There  has  been  something  weighing  on  me  like  a  bad 
dream  for  many  days.  I  cannot  explain  it.  Aline, 
dear,  you  let  it  alone." 

"I  wish  you  two  would  not  talk  like  that,"  said 
Aline,  "because  I  have  had  exactly  the  same  feeling 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        175 

and  it  is  most  uncanny;  but  I  cannot  give  up  the  New- 
biggin  people  because  of  my  feelings." 

"Come,  let  us  have  some  fun,"  she  continued;  "we 
look  as  if  we  had  not  a  backbone  among  us. ' ' 

She  went  to  the  sword-chest  as  she  spoke  and  took 
out  a  pair  of  foils.  "Now,  this  will  do  my  stiffness 
good,  and  Audry  can  act  as  umpire." 

They  had  a  good  deal  of  practice  since  the  first 
encounter.  Ian  was  really  a  brilliant  master  of  the 
art  and  was  much  amused  at  the  way  that  Aline  had 
completely  hoaxed  him.  Aline  made  rapid  progress  and 
Ian  used  to  tell  her  that,  child  as  she  was,  she  would  prob- 
ably be  able  to  account  for  a  fairly  average  swords- 
man, so  little  was  the  art  then  understood  in  Scotland 
or  England. 

After  a  bout  or  two,  they  sat  down  to  rest. 

"You  know,"  said  Ian,  "I  think  I  ought  to  be  leav- 
ing you  soon.  I  am  ever  so  much  better  than  I  was  and 
it  would  be  well  for  me  to  be  away." 

' '  Why, ' '  said  Audry, ' '  are  you  not  comfortable  here  ? ' ' 

"Of  course  I  am  comfortable,"  he  said,  "but  I  can- 
not stay  here  forever,  it  would  not  be  fair  to  you.  Be- 
sides it  is  time  that  I  was  doing  my  work  in  the  world. ' ' 

"But  it  would  be  terribly  risky,"  said  Audry,  "and 
after  the  narrow  escape  you  had,  I  think  you  might 
consider  you  had  done  your  share." 

"No,  because  I  feel  that  I  have  something  so  valuable 
for  people,  that  it  is  worth  any  risk." 

"But  look  how  you  have  suffered  and  you  will  bring 
the  same  suffering  to  others;  in  fact  you  hesitated  about 
telling  us." 

"But  that  was  because  you  are  children,  and  some- 


176  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

how  I  do  not  feel  that  a  child  is  called  upon  to  under- 
take such  great  responsibilities. ' ' 

"I  do  not  see  why  a  child  should  not  judge,"  said 
Aline ;  ' '  it  is  all  so  simple  and  beautiful.  If  it  is  worth 
dying  for,  people  should  be  glad  to  have  it,  whatever  the 
suffering.  I  think  I  feel  ready  to  die  like  poor  George 
Wishart.  So  if  your  going  helps  other  people,  even  if 
it  makes  us  very  sad  you  must  go.  When  do  you  think 
you  ought  to  start  ? ' ' 

' '  I  have  a  definite  errand  to  undertake.  I  have  never 
told  you  about  it,  but  I  am  acting  as  a  special  messenger 
with  some  important  papers,  and  I  have  been  thinking  it 
over  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  should  be 
leaving  here  in  a  week  at  most,  but  less  if  possible. ' ' 

"What,  so  soon?"  exclaimed  both  the  children  at  once. 

A  deeper  gloom  than  ever  seemed  to  fall  over  the  party 
as  this  was  said,  and  although  they  tried  to  feel  cheer- 
ful, they  knew  it  was  a  poor  attempt.  No  one  spoke  for 
a  long  time.  Ian  sat  with  his  head  between  his  hands 
and  Aline  gazed  into  the  empty  fireplace  at  the  dead 
ashes  of  the  fire  that  had  been  lit  when  Ian  came. 

These  days  with  Ian  had  made  the  Holwick  life  far 
more  bearable  for  her.  There  were  her  Greek  lessons 
and  the  fencing  lessons,  but  bad  as  it  would  be  to  lose 
them  it  would  be  worse  to  lose  her  friend.  He  was  gen- 
erally very  reserved  with  her;  but  if  she  was  in  trouble 
he  always  opened  out.  She  glanced  up.  Ian  had  lifted 
his  head  and  their  eyes  met.  What  would  she  do  without 
him? 

Audry  held  one  of  the  foils  and  drew  with  it  on  the 
floor.  The  silence  was  oppressive. 

At  length  Aline  spoke.     "Where  shall  you  go,  when 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        177 

you  leave  us  ?  You  cannot  think  how  sadly  we  shall  miss 
you." 

"I  shall  probably  miss  you  more  than  you  will  miss 
me,  sweet  child,"  and  Menstrie  looked  at  her  with  a 
strange  longing  pain  in  his  heart.  It  was  thirteen  years 
since  any  one  person  had  filled  his  life  as  this  child  had 
done,  and  now  he  was  to  lose  her.  "Surely,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "life  is  compact  of  most  mysterious  bitter- 
ness"; but  he  tried  to  be  cheerful  for  the  child's  sake 
and  said,  "Never  mind,  Aline,  I  shall  come  and  see  you 
again.  I  think  I  shall  try  and  become  a  packman  like 
your  friend  who  gave  you  your  necklace,  if  I  can  get 
£ome  money  somehow  to  begin,  and  then  I  can  pay  many 
visits  to  Holwick.  I  believe  I  could  disguise  myself  well 
enough,  as  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  here  really  knows 
me, — the  few  that  saw  me  will  have  forgotten  me.  We 
can  meet  in  this  room  and  I  shall  be  able  to  bring  you 
news  and  some  interesting  things  from  far  away." 

"Yes,  do  bring  me  a  chatelaine,"  said  Audry.  "I 
have  always  wanted  one  and  Father  has  either  forgotten 
or  been  unable  to  get  it." 

"Is  there  anything  you  would  like,  birdeen?"  said 
Ian,  addressing  Aline. 

Aline  thought  for  a  moment ;  why  should  he  bring  her 
things,  he  was  obviously  poor  and  never  likely  to  be 
anything  else  ?  What  was  the  younger  son  of  a  yeoman 
who  had  been  a  wanderer,  a  smith  and  a  soldier  of  for- 
tune ever  likely  to  have  in  the  way  of  money?  Even 
her  own  father  who  had  been  a  small  Laird  had  never 
been  able  to  purchase  her  the  necklace  that  he  had  so 
desired  to  do.  "I  do  not  want  you  to  bring  me  any- 
thing," she  answered  finally,  "if  only  you  can  keep  your- 


178  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

self  safe,"  and  then  she  added  hesitatingly,  "Would  a 
Greek  Testament  be  expensive?" 

"No,  not  at  all,"  said  Ian.  "Would  you  like  one,  lit- 
tle angel?" 

"Yes,  very  much  indeed;  but  oh,  I  am  afraid  it  will  be 
a  long  time  between  one  visit  and  the  next,  and  we  shall 
not  know  what  has  become  of  you,"  and  Aline  sighed. 

"I  think  I  could  write  to  you  sometimes,"  he  said. 
' '  We  might  get  hold  of  Walter  Hargrove,  who  suggested 
something  of  the  sort  to  you,  and  for  greater  security  we 
could  make  duplicates  of  the  parchment  with  the  holes 
that  you  found  in  the  book.  I  could  write  the  letter  so 
that  it  looked  like  an  announcement  of  my  wares. ' ' 

They  discussed  the  matter  for  some  time  and  the  next 
day  set  about  making  the  parchment  slips,  and  for  the 
following  few  evenings  they  were  busy  with  several 
preparations.  lan's  clothes  all  had  to  be  mended  and 
put  in  good  order  and  they  took  some  of  the  clothes  that 
they  had  found  in  the  secret  room  and  by  slight  altera- 
tions were  able  to  make  him  a  second  outfit. 

They  also  found  a  leathern  wallet  that  with  a  little 
patching  made  a  sound  serviceable  article. 

Ian  further  made  a  suggestion  to  Aline  in  case  they 
should  have  reason  to  suspect  that  the  key  to  their  cor- 
respondence was  known.  "Let  us  take  your  name  and 
mine,"  he  said,  "to  make  the  foundation  of  a  series  of 
letters  and  we  will  write  the  names  downward  like  this — 

A 

L 

I 

N 

E" 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        179 

"Yes,  and  what  next?"  said  Aline. 

"Well,  after  each  letter,  we  will  write  in  order  the 
letters  in  the  alphabet  that  follow  it.     After  A  we  will 

write  B  C  D  E  F  G,  and  after  L  we  will  write  M  N  O 

P  Q  R,  and  whenever  we  get  to  Z  we  start  the  alphabet 

again.  So  if  we  write  our  whole  names  it  will  look  like 
this— 

A.  B  C             D             E  F  G 

L.  M  N             O             P  Q  R 

I.  J  K             L             M  N  O 

N.  O  P             Q            R  S  T 

E.  F  G             H            I  J  K 

G.  H  I              J             K  L  M 

I.  J  K            L             M  N  O 

L.  M  N            O             P  Q  R 

L.  M  N             O             P  Q  R 

E.  F  G             H             I  J  K 

S.  T  U             V             W  X  Y 

P.  Q  R             S             T  U  V 

I.  J  K            L             M  N  O 

E.  F  G             H            I  J  K 

I.  J  K            L             M  N  O 

A.  B  C             D             E  F  G 

N.  O  P             Q             R  S  T 

M.  N  O             P             Q  R  S 

E.  F  G             H            I  J  K 

N.  O  P             Q             R  S  T 

S.  T  U            V            W  X  Y 

T.  U  V            W            X  Y  Z 

R.  S  T             U             V  W  X 

I.  J  K            L             M  N  O 

E.  F  G            H            I  J  K 


180  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Now  there  are  25  letters  in  each  column,  and  if  we  just 
put  a  number  at  the  top  of  our  communication,  we  shall 
know  where  we  are  to  begin  to  use  the  sequence." 

"I  see,"  said  Aline,  "if  the  number  is  51  we  shall 
begin  at  the  top  of  the  third  column ;  if  it  is  56  we  shall 
begin  6  letters  down  the  third  column." 

"And  if  it  was  176,"  said  Ian,  "what  should  we  do?" 

"Well,  we  should  have  to  make  another  column  the 
same  way  and  we  should  begin  at  the  top  of  it." 

"Now  suppose  the  number  is  1,  we  shall  then  begin 
at  the  very  beginning,  and  the  way  we  should  use  the 
letters  would  be  like  this.  Suppose  this  is  the  mes- 
sage,— 

"Arthur  Melland  wishes  to  notifie  the  good  people  in  the 
Lothians  of  the  lasting  excellence  of  his  wares.  His  pack  is  regu- 
larly filled  with  all  the  newest  materials  and,  too,  all  is  most 
marvellously  finished  in  design. 

Our  first  letter  was  A,  and  the  first  A  we  find  is  the  A 
of  'Arthur.'  Our  second  letter  was  L,  and  the  next 
L  that  we  find  is  in  'Melland.'  Our  third  letter  was  I 
and  the  next  I  that  we  find  is  in  'wishes.'  Our  fourth 
letter  was  N  and  the  next  N  that  we  find  is  in  '  notifie. '  ' 
"Oh,  that's  quite  easy,"  said  Aline,  "and  so  you  mark 
them  all  like  this — 

"Arthur  Mefland  wishes  to  notifie  the  jrood  people  in  the 
Lothians  of  the  lasting  excellence  of  his  wares.  His  pack  is  regu- 
larly filled  with  oil  the  newest  materials  and,  too,  all  is  most 
marvellously  finished  in  design. 

and  then  cut  them  out." 

"Yes,"  said  Ian,  "and  the  only  other  thing  necessary 
is  that  the  paper  should  first  be  neatly  ruled  with  quar- 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  SHADOWS        181 

ter  inch  squares,  and  each  of  the  key  letters  carefully 
written  in  a  square.  It  does  not  matter  about  the 
others.  But  then  when  the  receiver  gets  the  letter  he 
knows  that  the  squares  to  be  cut  must  be  exactly  an  even 
number  of  quarter  inches  from  the  edge  of  the  paper." 

' '  I  hope  I  shall  remember  it  if  needful, ' '  Aline  said. 

"I  don't,"  said  Audry. 

"Why  not?"  exclaimed  the  others  in  astonishment. 

"Because  I  hope  it  won't  be  needed  and  that  would 
certainly  be  simpler." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GOOD-BYE 

THE  days  slipped  by  all  too  quickly  and  the  chil- 
dren spent  every  available  moment  in  the  secret 
room.  But  it  was  not  very  safe  for  them  to 
disappear  from  sight  too  often  and  moreover,  other  ob- 
ligations had  to  be  fulfilled.  Sometimes  they  were  able 
to  arrange  that  one  should  remain  with  Ian  while  the 
other  was  occupied  elsewhere. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  while  Audry  was  in  the 
secret  room,  Aline  went  down  to  the  Arnsides.  On  the 
way  she  met  Father  Laurence  coming  up  from  Middle- 
ton.  It  was  an  unusual  thing  for  him  to  come  to  Hoi- 
wick  and  Aline  was  surprised.  "Good  day,  Father," 
she  said,  as  she  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"Bless  you,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  at 
her  keenly,  ' '  talium  enim  est  regnum  dei "  *  he  whis- 
pered softly  to  himself.  "How  profound  Our  Lord's 
sayings  were.  Yes,  it  does  one  good  even  to  look  at  a 
child,"  and  then  he  noticed  that  Aline  seemed  sad  and 
troubled  and  lacked  her  usual  buoyant  vivacity.  "Are 
you  not  happy,  little  maiden?"  he  said  gently. 

Aline  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  wonder; 
"No,  not  exactly,"  she  said. 

"What  is  it,  my  child?" 

"Oh,  many  things,  Father;  the  world  is  difficult." 

*  For  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God. 

182 


GOOD-BYE  183 

They  had  drawn  near  to  the  side  of  the  road  and 
Aline  was  leaning  against  the  wall;  she  plucked  the 
top  of  a  tall  ragwort  and  began  pulling  off  its  yellow 
petals  one  by  one. 

The  priest  put  his  elbow  on  the  wall  and  looked  down 
at  her.  He  was  very  tall  indeed,  with  a  rather  thin 
face  and  deep  sad  eyes.  He  at  once  saw  that  she  did 
not  want  to  tell  him  her  troubles  and  he  had  too  much 
instinctive  delicacy  to  press  the  child.  He  laid  his  dis- 
engaged hand  kindly  on  her  head,  and  she  looked  up  at 
him. 

"Strange,"  he  thought,  "I  might  have  had  such  a 
child  of  mine  own ;  but  no,  it  was  not  to  be.  Yes,  I  know 
what  sorrow  is:  I  have  indeed  made  my  sacrifice. 

"All  things  work  together  for  good,  Aline,"  he  said 
aloud,  "the  forces  of  good  must  win  in  the  end,  but  the 
powers  of  darkness  are  strong  and  the  victory  may  be 
long  delayed;  yet  it  will  come." 

"But  the  world  is  cruel,  Father,"  said  Aline. 

"Yes,  my  child,  I  know,  and  the  world  often  seems 
to  be  victorious;  but  it  is  only  victorious  in  the  things 
of  the  world.  The  principle  of  love  and  the  principle 
of  beauty  will  outlast  the  world, ' '  and  he  smiled  a  sweet 
smile. 

Aline  gazed  into  his  face  and  he  seemed  to  be  look- 
ing into  the  things  beyond. 

"Be  of  good  courage,  little  maiden,  fear  not  them 
that  have  power  to  hurt  the  body.  The  Lord  be  with 
you,  and  may  the  Mother  of  God  watch  over  you ;  fare- 
well." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  and  Aline  saw  him  cross  over 
to  the  cottage  of  Benjamin  Darley.  She  went  on  to  the 


184  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Arnsides   and   found   both   mother   and  son   at  home. 

"Ah,  Honey,"  said  the  old  woman,  "it  is  good  to  see 
your  bonnie  face,  it's  a  sight  for  sair  een." 

"Mistress  Aline  is  not  looking  very  well,  mother," 
said  John. 

"Nonsense,  John,"  said  Aline,  and  added  brightly, — 
"I  have  come  to  ask  you  all  you  can  tell  me  about 
Newbiggin.  I  know  I  can  trust  you." 

"Dear  heart,"  said  Janet,  "you  do  us  honour."  She 
skilfully  lifted  the  peats  with  the  long  tongs  and  rear- 
ranged them  on  a  different  part  of  the  hearth  and  soon 
there  was  a  bright  fire. 

"That's  a  merry  blaze,"  said  Aline;  "it  seems  to 
cheer  one's  heart." 

For  an  hour  they  sat  and  talked  about  Newbiggin ;  and 
the  child,  with  what  she  already  knew,  was  able  to  make 
a  shrewd  estimate  of  the  true  state  of  affairs. 

After  a  while  the  subject  not  unnaturally  turned  to 
"Moll  o'  the  graves"  and  Aline  was  dismayed  when  she 
heard  that  Moll  had  been  talking  about  seeing  a  man  on 
the  moors,  and  saying  that  it  would  be  the  beginning  of 
troubles. 

"What  did  she  mean  by  that?"  asked  Aline. 

"She  would  not  explain,"  said  Janet;  "she  refused 
to  tell  any  one  anything  more.  'The  time  is  not  yet, 
the  time  is  not  yet,'  she  kept  repeating;  'when  all  is 
ready  and  I  have  discovered  the  workings  of  the  fates, 
I  will  tell  you  more  than  you  wish  to  know.'  ' 

"People  have  gossiped  about  it  a  great  deal,"  Janet 
went  on,  "but  Moll  will  say  nothing  further." 

"I  trust  that  her  evil  desires  may  be  foiled,"  said 
Aline,  "but  I  must  not  tarry." 


GOOD-BYE  185 

As  she  went  up  the  street  she  again  met  Father  Lau- 
rence coming  out  of  Peter's  cottage  and  he  seemed  more 
sorrowful  than  ever. 

"Peace  be  with  you,  Aline,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  right 
melancholic  thing  here,"  holding  out  a  letter.  "But  it 
cannot  grieve  thee  beyond  what  thou  already  knowest. 
It  is  a  letter  from  Durham,  long  delayed  in  transit,  con- 
cerning the  death  of  little  Joan.  Will  you  read  it  or 
shall  I?" 

Aline 's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "I  should  like  you  to 
read  it,"  she  said. 

Father  Laurence  then  read — 

"To  Peter  Simson  in  Holwick 

"It  beseemeth  me  to  send  thee  word,  although  my  heart  is 
right  heavy  within  me,  of  the  passing  of  the  small  damsel 
y-cleped  *  Joan,  who  came  from  Upper  Teesdale.  Of  this  you 
will  have  already  heard:  but  my  sister  was  herself  sick  of  an 
ague  at  the  time  and  Sir  Robert  Miller,  her  confessor,  saith  that 
her  mind  wandered.  He  writeth  this  for  me.  She  herself  lingered 
not  many  days, — God  rest  her  soul, — and,  when  I  came  from 
Skipton,  where  I  dwelled,  she  was  buried. 

"I  only  know  from  a  neighbour  that  the  damsel  had  gained 
health  until  latterly  and  that  the  end  was  on  a  sudden.  She 
spake  much  of  the  young  lady  at  the  Hall,  who  had  given  her 
great  bounty;  and  in  especial  would  she  have  the  shoon  and  the 
belt  returned,  which  were  new.  But  these  same  I  cannot  find,  and 
methinks  they  must  have  gone  to  Newcastle  with  the  other  orphans 
who  were  in  my  sister's  house,  and  whom  the  good  dame  who  came 
thence  to  nurse  my  sister,  took  home  in  her  charge,  and  may  our 
Lady  requite  her  kindness. 

"An  thou  wouldst  speak  to  the  Mistress  Alice  or  Ellen, — the 
name  escapeth  me, — I  would  give  thee  much  thanks. 

"ELIZABETH  PARRY." 

' '  But  I  never  gave  her  any  shoes  or  belt, ' '  said  Aline. 
"Poor  little  Joan,  her  mind  must  have  failed  her  at 
*  Named. 


186  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

the  last,  or  Mistress  Parry  must  have  been  as  much  in 
error  as  she  was  about  my  name.  She  was  a  dear  child," 
she  continued,  ' '  and  it  is  bitter  dole  *  to  me.  I  have 
burned  a  few  candles  for  her  soul,  but  I  have  not  much 
means. ' ' 

"Trouble  not  thy  gentle  heart,"  said  the  old  priest, 
"I  will  myself  say  mass  for  the  child,  and  no  one  shall 
be  at  any  charge.  God  keep  thee,  Aline,  as  he  may." 

When  she  reached  the  Hall  she  went  to  Ian  and  Audry 
and  told  them  what  she  had  learned,  and  they  were 
much  disquieted  at  the  evil  speaking  of  old  Moll;  but 
there  was  nothing  that  they  might  do  and  they  could 
only  hope  against  hope. 

Ever  since  hearing  the  letter  that  Father  Laurence 
had  read,  the  sad  figure  of  little  Joan  had  floated  be- 
fore Aline 's  eyes,  and  that  night  she  went  to  the  library 
and  opened  the  ambry  and  took  out  the  little  packet 
and  gazed  at  the  pathetic  contents.  "I  wonder  whether 
I  shall  ever  be  able  to  find  the  boy,  "Wilfred  Johnstone, ' ' 
she  said.  ' '  But  I  expect  he  will  have  forgotten  already, 
boys  never  remember  long,"  and  then  she  recalled  a  re- 
mark of  her  father's, — "A  boy  remembers  longer  and  is 
more  constant  than  a  girl,  unless  he  has  won  her;  but 
after  she  is  won  she  is  the  more  faithful."  "I  should 
like  to  know  if  that  be  true,"  she  thought. 

At  length  the  evening  came  when  Ian  had  to  start. 
It  was  a  fine  bright  night  as  the  three  made  their  way 
down  the  secret  passage  for  the  last  time. 

"How  strange  it  has  all  been,"  said  Aline,  "since  we 
first  discovered  the  secret  room  and  this  passage.  What 
a  different  thing  life  means  to  me  from  what  it  did 

*  Grief. 


GOOD-BYE  187 

then!"  She  was  leading  the  way  carrying  the  wallet 
containing  the  food,  while  Audry  carried  a  staff  and  a 
big  heavy  cloak. 

"It  has  been  a  wonderful  time  for  me,"  said  Ian, 
"and  I  can  never  realise  to  the  full  the  marvellousness 
of  my  escape  or  your  great  kindness  to  me.  I  feel  that 
God  must  have  arranged  it  all,  just  because  it  is  so 
strange.  I  seem  to  have  every  little  incident  written  in 
undying  characters  in  my  mind,  and  I  could  recall  almost 
every  word  of  your  conversations  with  me.  Even  if  we 
never  meet  again,  you  will  live  with  me  always." 

' '  Oh,  but  you  will  come  back  and  we  shall  meet  again, ' ' 
Audry  interrupted,  "you  must  not  talk  like  that." 

"I  hope  that  I  shall,"  he  said,  but  the  tone  of  his 
voice  was  so  sad  that  no  one  spoke  again  till  they  came  to 
the  cave-room. 

They  lifted  the  stone  and  Ian  climbed  down  first  and 
then  lifted  the  two  through  the  opening.  As  he  held 
Aline  in  his  arms  a  great  wave  of  feeling  nearly  over- 
came him  altogether.  For  the  moment  he  felt  as  though 
he  could  not  put  her  down ;  it  was  like  voluntarily  part- 
ing with  all  that  made  life  precious.  He  clasped  her 
tightly  to  him  for  a  moment  and  then  he  set  her  very 
gently  on  her  feet.  It  was  not  too  dark  to  see  her  face, 
and  as  he  looked  at  it  he  realised  that  he  had  never 
seen  it  more  sad  and  yet  it  had  never  looked  more  beau- 
tiful. The  light  was  not  bright  enough  to  see  the  colour, 
but  he  could  just  discern  something  of  its  richness  in  the 
gleam  of  her  thick  long  wavy  hair,  reaching  far  down 
below  her  waist.  They  all  found  it  very  difficult  to  speak 
and  the  children  wished  him  a  safe  journey  and  a  happy 
issue  with  very  trembling  voices. 


188  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

' '  Think  of  me  sometimes, ' '  he  said,  ' '  when  I  am  gone, 
and  pray  for  me.  May  God  be  with  you  and  do  more 
than  I  can  ever  ask  in  my  feeble  prayers. ' ' 

He  kissed  both  the  children,  and  holding  Aline 's  little 
face  in  both  his  hands  he  said, — "Oh,  if  I  could  only 
do  something  for  you,  little  one,  I  could  be  happy,  no 
matter  what  it  cost.  Somehow  I  feel  that  we  shall  never 
meet  again  in  spite  of  what  Audry  says ;  still  that  does  not 
make  it  impossible  for  me  to  do  something  for  you.  Re- 
member that  I  shall  always  be  living  in  the  hope  that 
some  such  chance  may  come  and  that  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure you  can  give  me  is  to  let  me  use  myself  in  your 
service.  But  now  I  must  go."  He  kissed  her  once 
again  and  then  took  the  cloak,  staff  and  wallet  and  strode 
into  the  darkness ;  which  soon  closed  round  him  and  hid 
him  from  their  sight. 

After  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  or  so  across  the 
moor,  he  paused ;  it  was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear ; 
so  he  knelt  down  and  prayed  that  all  good  things  might 
come  to  Aline  and,  if  it  were  not  selfish  to  ask  it,  that 
it  might  be  given  to  him  to  suffer  on  her  behalf, — some 
pain,  some  sacrifice,  some  physical  or  mental  anguish, 
that  might  directly  or  indirectly  add  to  her  joy  or  lessen 
her  sorrow.  After  this  he  felt  strengthened  and  even 
elated  at  the  thought  of  the  suffering  that  he  hoped 
would  come.  It  was  not  enough  to  give  her  happiness, 
the  more  it  would  cost  him,  the  more  he  would  wel- 
come it. 

He  walked  as  fast  as  the  light  and  the  nature  of  the 
ground  would  permit,  and  when  the  morning  dawned  he 
had  passed  the  wild  cataract  of  Caldron  Snout  and  was 
on  the  spurs  of  Knock  Fell. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   TERROR   OF   THE   MIST 

IT  was  a  raw,  damp  morning  and  the  day  struggled 
up  with  difficulty.  Ian  was  very  tired  as  it  was 
long  since  he  had  made  any  continuous  physical  ef- 
fort and,  anxious  as  he  was  to  make  progress,  he  felt 
that  he  must  rest.  He  sat  down  by  a  stream  and  opened 
his  wallet  and  broke  his  fast,  while  he  thought  out  what 
would  be  the  best  road  for  him  to  take.  So  far  he  had 
been  sure  of  the  way  from  Audry's  description,  but  he 
was  a  little  more  doubtful  about  his  ability  to  find  the 
route  further  on  and  yet,  if  possible,  he  did  not  wish 
to  ask  questions  of  any  one  he  met.  He  was  just  able 
to  distinguish  the  sun  rising  through  the  mist  and  hoped 
that  the  day  would  brighten.  From  this  he  calculated 
that  the  wind  which  was  very  steady  was  from  the  north- 
west. 

He  knew  that,  when  they  were  hunting  him  before,  a 
description  of  him  had  been  sent  as  far  as  Alston  and 
Kirkoswald;  so  he  determined  to  try  and  reach  Carlisle 
without  going  through  these  places.  In  Carlisle  people 
had  more  things  to  think  about ;  and  the  incident  of  his 
escape,  even  if  news  of  it  had  travelled  so  far,  would  by 
this  time  be  forgotten.  Moreover  a  stranger  in  the  great 
border  town  would  not  arouse  any  curiosity. 

He  therefore  decided  that  he  would  keep  along  by 
the  highest  ground  following  the  ridge  of  summits.  This 
he  knew  would  ultimately  bring  him  to  Cold  Fell, 

189 


190  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

where  the  drop  on  every  side  is  very  marked  and  whence, 
if  he  had  not  seen  Carlisle  itself  before,  he  could  drop 
down  by  Naworth  or  Brampton. 

After  a  long  rest  he  turned  up  the  steep.  Unfor- 
tunately the  mist,  instead  of  lifting,  grew  thicker  until 
he  had  nothing  to  guide  him  but  the  wind  and  the  gen- 
eral lie  of  the  ground.  Used  as  he  was  to  the  hills,  he 
always  felt  the  eeriness  of  the  mist  seething  and  curl- 
ing and  scurrying  over  the  heather.  It  was  bitterly 
cold  as  the  wind  was  strong  and  the  mist  grew  so  thick 
that  he  could  only  see  the  ground  for  a  few  paces.  He 
was  afraid  of  coming  suddenly  upon  the  precipice  of 
some  corrie  or  cross-gully.  He  had  heard  too  of  the  ter- 
rible "pot"  holes  in  the  limestone  district,  and  pic- 
tured himself  falling  down  into  one  of  those  black  bot- 
tomless chimneys,  where  even  his  body  would  never  be 
seen  again. 

He  decided  to  strike  straight  up  for  the  top,  even 
though  it  was  more  fatiguing,  and  he  followed  the  steep- 
est line  of  the  ground,  scrambling  over  the  rocks  where 
necessary.  He  started  violently  as  he  suddenly  heard 
the  scream  of  an  eagle  somewhere  near  him  in  the 
mist,  and  later  on  he  was  surprised  actually  to  come 
upon  one  tearing  the  body  of  a  grouse.  The  great  bird 
rose  and  hit  him,  whether  intentionally  or  not  he  was 
not  sure,  but  he  shrank  involuntarily  and  the  sight  of 
the  small  mangled  victim  stirred  his  heart.  "Why  was 
the  world  of  birds  and  men  so  essentially  cruel?" 
"Poor  little  Aline,"  he  thought,  as  he  looked  at  the  little 
bird. 

When  at  last  he  reached  the  height  he  was  met  by 
an  icy  wind  of  tremendous  force  from  the  weather  side 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  MIST  191 

of  the  hill  and  it  was  only  with  extreme  difficulty  that 
he  could  keep  his  footing.  Using  the  wind  as  his  guide 
he  decided  on  a  place  where  the  gradient  was  less  and 
the  direction  right  as  far  as  he  could  judge  and  trusted 
that  this  would  be  the  col  between  the  summits. 

It  was  anxious  work  and  at  last  he  began  to  feel 
that  he  had  descended  too  far.  He  had  missed  the  col. 
He  was  lost.  Although  better  in  health  his  nerves  were 
still  shaken.  For  a  moment  he  half  broke  down.  ' '  Oh, 
if  I  could  only  see  you  once  again,  Aline,"  he  cried, 
"and  you  will  never  know  that  months  afterwards  the 
shepherds  found  the  remains  of  an  unknown  man  upon 
the  hills."  He  peered  into  the  mist  as  though  by 
strength  of  will  he  would  force  its  secret.  It  was  vain, 
the  mist  was  blankly  impenetrable.  Under  ordinary 
circumstances  he  was  too  good  a  hillsman  to  mind  and 
would  simply,  worse  come  to  the  worst,  have  followed 
down  stream  till  he  came  to  the  haunts  of  men,  but  it 
was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  him  now  not  to  come 
down  the  wrong  valley.  Moreover,  there  were  the 
precious  papers,  for  which  he  had  already  risked  so 
much. 

Gradually  he  recovered,  but  what  was  he  to  do? 
Which  side  had  he  gone  wrong?  He  stood  and  reflected 
for  a  moment.  The  direction  of  the  wind  seemed  all 
right,  but  it  was  very  much  less  in  force.  Surely  then 
he  was  to  the  east  of  the  col.  Oh,  if  only  the  mist 
would  lift,  but  it  still  raced  past,  with  its  white  swirl- 
ing, cruel  fingers.  The  wind  sighed  sadly  in  the  rank, 
red  tinted  grass,  and  away  below  he  heard  the  falling 
of  many  waters  and  the  endless  bleating  of  sheep. 
Every  now  and  then  some  gigantic  menacing  forms 


192  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

would  seem  to  shape  themselves  out  of  the  mist; — they 
danced  round  him,  they  pointed  at  him,  they  mocked 
him.  They  were  trolls,  they  were  the  spirits  of  death, 
the  lost  souls  of  the  sons  of  men.  A  brooding  horror 
seemed  to  sweep  over  the  desolate  hillside,  chilling  him 
with  a  nameless  dread.  He  turned  a  little  further  into 
the  wind  and  the  ground  grew  more  wet  and  mossy. 
This  must  surely  be  somewhere  below  the  middle  of  the 
col,  he  argued,  and  he  struck  still  more  to  the  left. 

Suddenly  he  came  upon  a  sight  that  froze  his  mar- 
row. It  was  the  skeleton  of  a  child, — some  poor  little 
wanderer  who,  like  himself,  had  been  lost  and  who 
never  had  returned  home.  The  wind  whistled  through 
the  small  slender  bones.  They  were  quite  clean,  save 
for  a  little  hair  clinging  to  the  skull,  from  which  Ian 
guessed  that  it  was  a  boy.  He  might  have  been  ten  or 
twelve  years  old.  How  had  he  come  there?  What  had 
brought  him  to  his  fate  ?  The  clothes  had  entirely  gone 
save  one  little  shoe.  Ian  picked  it  up,  looked  at  it  and 
shivered.  Oh,  the  horror  of  it !  Then  the  mood  changed 
and  he  found  himself  filled  with  unutterable  pity. 
"Poor  child,  poor  child,"  he  said;  "another  victim  of 
a  heartless  world. ' '  He  knelt  down  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  small  skull  and  his  emotion  overcame  him.  Then 
he  gathered  the  bones  together  and  carried  them  to  a 
small  hollow  under  a  great  rock.  As  he  was  doing  this, 
his  fingers  came  across  something  in  the  grass.  It  was 
a  small  wallet  or  purse.  When  he  had  taken  all  the 
bones  he  managed  with  some  difficulty  to  cover  them 
with  earth  and  then  he  built  up  a  little  cairn  of  stones. 
The  small  shoe  he  put  with  the  bones,  but  the  wallet  he 
took  with  him. 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  MIST  193 

With  very  mingled  feelings  he  struggled  up  the  slope 
and  at  last  to  his  great  relief  he  felt  the  icy  blast  of 
the  northwest  wind,  with  the  ground  sloping  upward 
in  the  right  direction.  He  decided  to  make  for  the  very 
summit,  the  better  to  check  his  position,  and  at  last  he 
reached  the  point  and  then  cautiously  made  his  way 
in  the  same  manner  to  what  he  believed  was  Cross  Fell. 

It  was  very  slow  work  and  the  ground  was  very  wet 
and  heavy ;  he  was  footsore  and  stiff  from  lack  of  prac- 
tice and  when  the  evening  began  to  close  in  he  had  made 
absurdly  little  headway. 

At  last  he  felt  he  could  go  no  further  and  must  spend 
the  night  upon  the  hills.  He  climbed  over  the  ridge  to 
the  leeward  side  and  dropped  until  he  came  to  the 
heather  line,  where  he  found  a  dry  hollow  between  some 
rocks.  Tearing  up  a  quantity  of  heather  he  made  him- 
self a  bed  to  lie  on  and  sat  down  on  the  soft  extem- 
porised couch.  Then  he  opened  the  little  wallet  or 
pouch  that  he  had  found  by  the  skeleton.  It  contained 
sqme  knuckle  bones  and  a  piece  of  cord;  but  with  them 
was  a  wonderful  bracelet  of  peculiar  workmanship.  Ian 
judged  it  to  be  Keltic  of  a  very  remote  date  as  it  some- 
what resembled  work  that  a  friend  had  found  in  the 
Culbin  sands.  An  inscription  and  other  alterations  had 
been  made  at  a  later  date. 

The  design  was  in  bold  curving  shapes  that  expressed 
the  very  spirit  of  metal.  Most  remarkable  were  three 
large  bosses  of  a  strange  stone  of  marvellous  hue;  they 
were  a  deep  sky-blue,  brilliantly  clear  and  transparent, 
but  with  a  slight  yet  most  mysterious  opalescence  in  the 
colour.  He  had  never  heard  of  such  a  stone  and  there 
was  something  almost  uncanny  about  the  way  they  shone 


194  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

in  the  dim  light.    Whether  they  were  original  or  sub- 
stitutes for  enamel  or  amber  he  could  not  tell. 
The  inscription  ran: — 

WOE  TO  WHO  STEALETH  ME 
PEACE  TO  WHO  FINDETH  ME 
BUT  WEAL  WHERE  I  COME  AS  A  GIFT  OF  LOVE. 

It  was  a  marvellously  beautiful  thing  and  Ian  could 
not  help  speculating  how  the  boy  had  come  by  it.  "If 
these  charms  and  amulets  really  had  any  power,  he  might 
well  have  stolen  it,"  he  thought,  shuddering  at  what  he 
had  seen.  "But  that  is  a  thing  we  shall  never  know. 
However,  it  would  be  a  pleasing  gift  for  Aline,  and  some 
day  I  will  clasp  it  myself  on  that  little  white  wrist. ' ' 

He  pictured  Aline  to  himself  wearing  the  bracelet 
and  then  rolling  his  cloak  about  him  went  to  sleep. 

For  a  few  hours  he  slept  well  and  then  he  woke  with 
the  cold.  He  was  very  tired  and  sleepy  but  unable  to 
sleep  again  for  the  pains  which  shot  through  him.  The 
miserable  night  seemed  endless,  he  tossed  and  dozed  and 
tossed  again,  but  at  last  the  dawn  broke.  It  was  still 
misty  but  he  was  anxious  to  get  on.  He  opened  his 
wallet  and  found  it  was  getting  low;  there  was  enough 
for  two  fair  meals,  but  he  divided  it  into  three  portions 
and  took  one. 

The  wind  had  dropped  but  he  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion of  marking  its  direction  on  the  ground  before  he 
slept.  However,  that  would  not  avail  him  long.  He 
wondered  what  Aline  was  doing.  He  was  sure  that  some- 
how Providence  had  intended  him  to  help  her.  Suppose 
he  had  done  wrongly  and  should  meet  his  death  and  de- 
prive her  of  his  aid !  Why  was  life  so  continually  per- 
plexing? 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  MIST  195 

When  he  started  to  move,  his  swollen  blistered  feet 
made  every  step  painful,  but  gradually  he  became  more 
used  to  it  and  struggled  on  mechanically. 

He  was  going  very  slowly,  although  it  was  down  hill, 
and  it  was  with  joy  that  in  rather  less  than  four  hours 
he  came  across  a  mountain  track  running  according  to 
his  guess  east  and  west.  ' '  This  must  surely  be  the  road 
from  Alston  to  Kirkoswald,"  he  said,  and  feeling  more 
or  less  reassured  he  sat  down.  But  he  was  so  worn  out 
from  fatigue  and  lack  of  sleep  that  he  almost  at  once  fell 
into  a  deep  slumber. 

When  he  awoke  he  found  a  shepherd-boy  looking  at 
him.  "You  sleep  soundly,  Master,"  he  said;  "whither 
are  you  bound?" 

"I  am  going  to  Carlisle,"  he  answered. 

"I  have  been  in  Carlisle  once,"  said  the  boy.  "It's 
a  fine  town,  with  bonnie  sights;  but  that  was  not  yes- 
terday. I  spend  all  my  time  with  the  sheep  and  it  is 
rarely  that  I  get  a  chance  for  such  things.  No,  it's  not 
much  pleasure  that  they  let  come  my  way,"  he  added 
dolefully. 

Ian  looked  at  the  boy,  who  had  a  fine  face  and  was 
well  proportioned  in  length  of  limbs  and  figure,  but  thin 
and  ill  nourished,  with  hollow  cheeks  and  angular  shoul- 
ders. "I  am  afraid  they  do  not  feed  you  over  well," 
he  remarked. 

"Not  they,"  said  the  lad, — "I  get  my  brose  in  the 
morning  and  none  too  much  of  that  and  then  generally 
I  get  some  more  brose  in  the  evening." 

"Do  you  get  nothing  all  day?"  said  Ian. 

"Why,  no,"  he  replied. 

"Would  you  like  something  to  eat  now?" 


196  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

The  boy's  eyes  lit  up  as  Ian  undid  his  wallet. 
"Surely,"  he  said. 

Ian  gave  him  all  that  the  wallet  contained  and  smiled 
with  pleasure  as  he  watched  the  boy  ravenously  devour 
every  morsel.  It  was  the  first  glow  of  satisfaction  that 
Ian  had  had  since  he  left  Holwick. 

As  the  boy  munched  away  Ian  thought  he  might  get 
what  information  he  could ;  at  least  he  would  know  how 
much  more  road  there  was  before  him,  which  was  advis- 
able now  that  he  had  nothing  whatever  left  to  eat. 

"Do  you  know  the  names  of  the  hills?"  he  asked 
casually,  as  though  hunting  for  a  topic  of  conversation. 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  the  boy.  "Black  Fell  is  up 
that  way  and  Cross  Fell  is  over  there.  If  it  was  a 
clear  day  you  could  see  the  hills  in  the  west  too,  Skid- 
daw  and  Blencathara  and  Helvellyn,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them. 

"I  wish  I  was  going  with  you  to  Carlisle,"  he  added 
somewhat  wistfully;  "a  city  is  better  than  the  hills; 
not  that  I  do  not  love  the  hills,"  he  continued,  "but  an 
apprentice  gets  more  to  fill  his  stomach  than  a  shepherd 
lad,  leastways  than  one  who  has  no  father  and  mother 
and  who  works  for  Farmer  Harrington." 

lan's  heart  always  went  out  to  children  and  this 
gaunt  but  rather  handsome  boy  interested  him  not  a  lit- 
tle. "How  old  are  you,"  he  asked,  "and  what  is  your 
name  ? ' ' 

"My  name  is  Wilfred  Johnstone  and  I  shall  be  twelve 
come  Martinmas." 

"Would  you  like  to  be  apprenticed  in  the  city  and  do 
you  know  anything  about  it?" 

"That  should  I,"  he  answered;  "I  should  like  to  be 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  MIST  197 

a  carpenter  like  Johnnie  o'  the  Biggins,  whom  they  sent 
to  Thirsk  last  year.  Some  day  he  will  be  a  master  car- 
penter and  be  building  roofs  and  houses  and  sic  like 
bonnie  things." 

' '  But,  Wilfred,  what  would  Farmer  Harrington  say  if 
you  left  him?" 

"Well,  I  cannot  tell  but  he  would  not  have  cause 
to  say  much,  for  the  way  that  he  treats  the  men  and 
the  lads  that  work  for  him.  I  very  nearly  left  him  and 
tramped  into  Carlisle  last  week;  but  it's  hard  to  become 
an  apprentice  if  you  cannot  pay  your  footing." 

Ian  had  two  or  three  gold  pieces  left,  so  he  took  out 
one  and  gave  it  to  the  boy.  ' '  That  will  enable  you  to  get 
to  Carlisle,  and  back  again  if  need  be,  and  stay  a  while 
anyway  to  see  if  you  can  find  a  place.  I  might  be  able 
to  help  you  if  you  can  find  me.  See  the  sheep  are  all 
right  to-night  and  then  come  along.  I  shall  be  about 
the  market  cross  most  days  at  noon,  and  if  you  do  not 
find  me  the  money  will  take  you  back." 

The  boy 's  eyes  grew  round  with  astonishment.  He 
took  the  money  and  tried  incoherently  to  express  his 
thanks,  and  then  after  a  pause  he  asked,  "What's  your 
name  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  call  me  James  Mitchell;  but  look  you,"  Ian 
added,  "do  not  tell  a  soul  about  meeting  me  or  ask  for 
me  by  name  in  Carlisle.  I  cannot  help  you  if  you  do. 
Promise  me." 

The  boy  looked  Ian  squarely  in  the  face  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "I  promise,"  he  said. 

Ian  grasped  the  hand  and  felt  the  magnetism  of  a  mu- 
tual understanding,  the  boy  was  clearly  honest  and  true 
and  would  keep  to  his  word.  "Well,  good-bye  and  God 


198  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

be   wi'   ye,"   said   Ian,    and   turned   away   northward. 

After  they  parted  Ian  kept  along  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  before  and  to  his  great  gladness  the  mist  towards 
evening  began  to  lift.  But  he  was  faint  and  famished 
and  felt  weak  from  want  of  food.  The  sleep  had  done 
him  some  good,  but  he  had  slept  too  long  and  lost  most 
of  the  day.  He  felt  a  little  less  melancholy  after  he  had 
seen  the  boy,  but  he  was  still  very  depressed.  His  mind 
ran  on  old  Moll  and  her  talk  about  the  spirits  of  dark- 
ness. Consequently  it  was  a  distinct  shock  when  he 
caught  sight  of  a  gigantic  figure  looming  through  the 
mist  and  striding  along  a  little  below  him  as  though 
seeking  a  place  so  as  to  come  up  on  his  level.  It  was 
many  times  larger  than  himself  and  in  the  dim  curlings 
of  the  mist  had  a  most  terrifying  aspect. 

Ian  began  to  run  but  the  figure  started  running  also. 
At  last  he  stood  still  and  the  figure  stopped  and  turned 
towards  him.  For  a  moment  his  brain,  dizzy  with  hun- 
ger, contemplated  a  fight  with  this  supernatural  being. 
He  mechanically  grasped  his  staff  and  raised  it,  and  the 
figure  did  the  same. 

Then  the  tension  relaxed  and  Ian  laughed.  It  was  the 
brocken,  the  strange  spectre  of  the  hills  formed  by  the 
distorted  shadow  of  his  own  figure  on  the  mist!  In  all 
his  hill-travelling  this  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
seen  it ;  and,  although  he  laughed,  the  little  incident  had 
not  helped  to  steady  his  nerves.  "It  has,  however,  one 
advantage,"  he  said;  "I  now  know  my  direction  from 
the  position  of  the  sun." 

Then  suddenly  the  mist  broke  and  there  before  him 
was  revealed  a  glorious  view.  The  sun  was  setting  in  a 
crimson  glory  and  the  hills  of  Cumberland,  still  cloud 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  MIST  199 

capped,  were  flushed  with  delicate  colours.  He  was  be- 
low Blacklaw  Hill,  and  Cold  Fell  blocked  the  view  to  the 
north.  Immediately  in  front  was  the  great  plain  of 
Carlisle  and  beyond  that  the  waters  of  the  Solway.  Far 
on  the  left  a  silver  glitter  showed  the  position  of  Ulles- 
water.  It  was  radiantly  beautiful  and  the  more  so, 
because  of  the  contrast  with  the  cold  and  darkness  of  the 
mist. 

He  decided  that  on  the  whole  he  had  better  keep  to 
the  hills,  but  it  grew  dark  and  he  had  to  spend  an- 
other cheerless  night  on  the  high  ground,  which  was 
made  worse  by  the  gnawing  hunger;  but  somehow  his 
spirit  seemed  brighter,  and  in  spite  of  the  cold  and  pain 
he  did  not  feel  so  unhappy. 

When  the  morning  broke,  he  set  off  with  a  light  heart 
to  Brampton,  where  he  secured  food  without  being  asked 
any  question  and  in  the  evening  he  found  himself  in 
Carlisle. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   DESPERATE   TASK 

WHEN  Ian  reached  Carlisle  he  secured  himself 
a  room  at  the  old  hostelry  near  the  Cathe- 
dral, sent  a  message  into  Scotland  that  he 
had  arrived,  and  then  spent  some  days  in  general  en- 
quiries as  to  the  possibility  of  getting  work.     In  this 
he  was  not  very  successful,  but  was  more  so  in  the  case 
of  Wilfred  Johnstone,  whom  on  the  fourth  day  of  his 
arrival  he  met  at  the  Market  Cross. 

Ian  was  sitting  watching  the  people,  when  the  boy 
came  up.  He  had  a  stick  over  his  shoulder  with  a  small 
bundle  containing  his  belongings. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  Carlisle?"  asked  Ian. 

"I  have  only  just  arrived,"  said  the  boy. 

"Come  along  then;  we  must  see  what  we  can  do  for 
you.  I  suppose  there  is  no  likelihood  of  Farmer  Har- 
rington coming  to  look  for  you." 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  boy,  "and  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  could  compel  me  to  come  back,  but  he  might. 
I  am  an  orphan  and  all  my  folk  are  dead.  I  lived  with 
my  Aunt  Louisa  Johnstone  until  she  died  this  winter; 
she  had  no  children  of  her  own." 

' '  Then  she  was  really  only  your  Uncle 's  wife. ' ' 

"No,  she  was  my  mother's  sister.  My  name  is  not 
really  Johnstone,  but  I  was  always  called  that  because  I 
lived  with  her." 

200 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  201 

"What  was  your  father's  name  then?" 

' '  It  was  Ackroyd. ' ' 

"So  your  real  name  is  Wilfred  Ackroyd?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  we  can  call  you  Will  Ackroyd  or  Willie  Ack- 
royd, and  if  Farmer  Harrington  comes  asking  for  Wil- 
fred Johnstone,  he  won't  find  him." 

"You  are  right,  Master." 

"Come  along  then,  Will.  I  have  found  a  carpenter 
called  Matthew  Musgrave  who  is  actually  in  need  of  a 
lad,  so  I  think  we  can  settle  that  difficulty." 

Matthew  Musgrave  was  a  good  hearted  fellow,  who 
took  kindly  to  the  boy  and  the  arrangement  was  con- 
cluded. The  result  was  that  he  also  began  to  take  an 
interest  in  the  stranger  who  had  introduced  him,  with 
the  final  issue  that  James  Mitchell,  as  we  must  now 
call  Ian,  who  was  remarkably  clever  with  his  hands,  used 
to  go  round  to  help  Matthew  when  he  was  extra  busy; 
and  gradually  Matthew  found  him  so  useful  that  he  gave 
him  more  or  less  regular  employment. 

He  had  decided  to  keep  to  the  name  of  James  Mitchell, 
which  was  the  name  he  had  used  on  the  Continent  when 
he  fled  from  England  not  long  after  Mary's  accession. 
Even  his  friends  in  France  did  not  know  his  real  name. 
If  ever  he  should  return  to  his  own  country  he  would 
resume  it;  meanwhile  James  Mitchell  did  well  enough. 
Moreover  his  recent  captors  knew  him  by  his  real  name 
and  it  might  be  some  slight  safeguard.  He  smiled  as 
he  remembered  how  he  had  instinctively  given  the  chil- 
dren his  own  name.  It  had  seemed  the  natural  thing 
to  do. 

After  about  a  week  Erskyne  arrived  and  he  was  ac- 


202  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

companied  by  Mortoun  himself,  who  hoped  to  obtain 
further  personal  information  by  word  of  mouth,  beyond 
that  contained  in  the  documents. 

"I  hear  you  have  had  some  sore  delays,  James 
Mitchell,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  my  Lord,  I  was  imprisoned  for  some  time  in 
York  and  wounded  and  sick  and  in  hiding  for  over  two 
months. ' ' 

"You  are  a  Scot  I  understand." 

"I  am,  my  Lord." 

"And  of  the  reformed  faith?" 

"That  is  so." 

"We  shall  need  the  services  of  all  good  Scots  if  there 
is  any  fighting  to  be  done.  Can  we  rely  upon  you?" 

"By  my  troth,  you  may,  my  Lord;  I  shall  be  found 
here." 

Ian  then  put  the  shoes  on  the  table  and  they  ripped 
them  open.  The  contents  were  practically  uninjured 
and  they  talked  till  late  into  the  night. 

As  they  retired  to  rest,  Erskyne  remarked; — "Mas- 
ter Knox  has  found  a  good  servant  in  you,  James 
Mitchell.  I  am  glad  to  have  met  an  honest  man  with 
an  honest  heart,  ay  and  an  honest  face,"  he  added. 
"Good  night." 

The  next  morning  they  left  early  and  Ian  felt  that 
an  epoch  in  his  life  had  closed.  He  also,  not  unnatu- 
rally thought  that,  having  reached  Carlisle  in  safety 
and  found  employment,  his  adventures  were  for  the  time 
at  an  end,  but  instead  of  that  they  were  only  just  be- 
ginning. 

Although  Wilfred  had  obtained  his  wish,  he  was  ob- 
viously restless  and  unhappy.  On  several  occasions  Ian 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  203 

had  tried  to  get  at  the  reason,  but  the  boy  was  uncom- 
municative. At  last  he  admitted  that  it  was  because  he 
had  left  something  behind  at  Master  Harrington's  near 
Kirkoswald. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  over  and  get  it,"  he  said. 

"But  that  would  hardly  be  safe,"  Ian  objected ;  " Mas- 
ter Harrington  might  not  let  you  have  it  or  let  you  go 
again. ' ' 

"It  is  not  in  a  house,"  said  Wilfred;  "it  is  hidden  in 
a  tree.  I  could  find  it  easily  in  the  dark." 

' '  How  did  you  come  to  forget  it  ? "  asked  Ian. 

"I  did  not  exactly  forget  it;  but  I  had  to  slip  away 
in  a  hurry  and  did  not  dare  to  go  back;  besides  I 
thought  I  might  have  to  return  to  Kirkoswald  in  any 
case  and  perhaps  it  was  as  safe  there  as  anywhere.  I 
knew  it  would  be  possible  to  go  and  fetch  it  and  I  must 
go  now." 

' '  I  cannot  but  think  you  are  very  unwise,  Will. ' ' 

"But  you  do  not  know  what  it  means  to  me,"  said 
the  boy. 

Ian  respected  the  child's  secret  and  asked  no  further. 
"Well,  I  shall  be  very  anxious  until  you  come  back; 
you  cannot  do  it  in  a  day.  Where  will  you  sleep?  It 
is  getting  late  in  the  year." 

"Oh!  I  shall  manage  somehow,"  said  the  boy.  "I 
shall  start  to-morrow  forenoon,  Wednesday,  and  shall  be 
back  on  Thursday  soon  after  noon." 

"Then  if  you  are  not  back,  I  shall  be  very  nervous 
about  you  and  shall  come  after  you." 

"No,  do  not  do  that,  Master;  I  shall  be  all  right." 

Ian  was  not  satisfied,  but  he  let  the  boy  set  off  early 
the  following  morning. 


204  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Wilfred  trudged  away  along  the  road  without  mishap, 
resting  now  and  then  and  taking  it  easily,  as  he  did  not 
want  to  arrive  before  dusk.  A  little  after  sunset  he 
arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  the  farm  and  made  his  way 
cautiously  to  the  hollow  tree.  He  looked  round  care- 
fully, but  no  one  was  about.  He  then  crept  into  the 
tree  and  felt  in  the  corner  for  a  pile  of  stones.  In  this 
was  concealed  a  small  wooden  box.  He  took  out  the  box 
and  drew  from  it  a  packet  wrapped  in  oiled  canvas; 
within  this  was  another  with  the  open  edges  thickly 
smeared  with  tallow. 

He  took  that  off  also  and  within  was  another  piece 
of  oiled  canvas,  but  the  packet  was  now  small  enough 
to  go  into  his  pouch,  where  he  put  it  without  opening 
it.  "It  would  be  too  dark  to  see  it,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

"I  think  I  shall  sleep  here,  it  is  as  good  as  any- 
where." He  waited  until  he  was  certain  that  no  one 
was  about  and  came  out  from  the  tree  to  gather  leaves 
with  which  to  make  a  bed  and  then  he  lay  down. 

Excitement  and  cold,  however,  kept  him  awake  for 
hours  and  it  was  not  till  far  on  in  the  night  that  he 
fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke  it  was  broad  day,  although 
still  early.  "I  have  slept  too  long,"  he  thought;  "it 
was  a  pity  I  did  not  fall  asleep  earlier."  He  peeped 
out  and  there  was  nobody  in  sight,  so  he  softly  stole  away 
toward  the  road. 

But  he  had  not  gone  fifty  yards,  before  the  thunder- 
ing voice  of  the  reeve,  his  particular  enemy,  called  out, 
— "Hulloo  there,  I  see  you  sneaking  round,  you  young 
thief.  But  you  will  not  hide  from  us  again,  I'll  war- 
rant." 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  205 

The  reeve  started  running  and  Wilfred  took  to  his 
heels.  The  reeve  was  a  powerful  athletic  fellow,  but 
Wilfred  was  light  and  nimble.  He  dodged  under  a 
fence  that  the  reeve  had  some  difficulty  in  surmounting, 
and  in  that  way  gained  a  little  at  the  start. 

For  a  time  the  distance  between  them  did  not  alter, 
both  were  holding  themselves  in  reserve;  then  it  oc- 
curred to  Wilfred  to  turn  up  hill;  he  might  not  be  so 
strong,  but  his  wind  would  be  better.  The  reeve  puffed 
and  panted  after  the  boy,  who  steadily  increased  his 
lead.  When  Wilfred  reached  the  top  of  the  slope  he 
glanced  round,  the  reeve  was  far  behind;  then  he 
plunged  down  the  hill  where  there  was  a  burn  at  the 
bottom,  and  splashed  through  it  with  some  difficulty,  as 
the  water  was  up  to  his  waist  and  the  bank  on  the  other 
side  was  steep. 

The  reeve  gained  during  the  process  and,  being  taller, 
made  light  work  of  the  burn  and  was  close  behind. 
Terror  lent  wings  to  the  boy's  feet  but  the  reeve  slowly 
overhauled  him  and  could  almost  reach  him  with  his 
arm.  Wilfred  could  hear  his  loud  breathing  just  behind 
him,  when  the  reeve,  tripping  over  a  root,  not  only  fell 
headlong  but  rolled  into  a  ditch. 

Wilfred  laughed  and  fled  like  the  wind;  there  was 
a  thick  wood  not  a  hundred  yards  away  and  he  would  be 
safe. 

His  adversary  picked  himself  up  and  was  just  in 
time  to  see  Wilfred  approaching  the  wood.  He  would 
easily  have  escaped,  but  another  man  appeared  coming 
out  of  the  wood  at  the  same  moment.  "Catch  him, 
Joseph,"  yelled  the  reeve,  and  the  exhausted  boy  fell  an 
easy  prey  to  the  newcomer. 


206  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

The  reeve  was  considerably  hurt  by  his  fall  and  it 
greatly  increased  his  anger.  "Where  have  you  been, 
you  young  rascal,"  he  roared,  "and  what  have  you 
done  with  the  sheep  you  stole?" 

"I  never  stole  a  sheep,"  said  Wilfred  indignantly, 
"and  it  is  no  business  of  yours  where  I  have  been." 

"Oh,  isn't  it;  we'll  soon  see  about  that.  Do  you 
know  what  happens  to  boys  who  steal  sheep?"  said  the 
reeve  vindictively. 

Wilfred  was  silent. 

' '  Come  now,  what  happens  to  boys  who  steal  sheep  ? ' ' 
he  went  on  with  malicious  glee. 

Wilfred  was  still  silent. 

"You  need  not  be  so  proud;  come  answer  my  ques- 
tion," and  taking  the  boy's  arm  he  twisted  it  round  till 
the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  but  he  restrained  himself 
from  crying  out.  "What  happens  to  boys  who  steal 
sheep?" 

"They  are  hanged,"  said  Wilfred  at  last;  "but  I  have 
not  stolen  sheep  or  anything, ' '  he  said  doggedly. 

"You  can  say  what  you  like,  but  the  sheep  disap- 
peared and  you  disappeared,  and  here  you  are  sneaking 
round  in  the  early  morning.  The  case  is  as  good  as 
proved,"  and  the  bullying  ruffian  kicked  the  boy  bru- 
tally. 

The  two  men  led  him  along  to  the  old  grange  and 
locked  him  up  in  a  small  room,  high  up  near  the  roof. 

Wilfred  knew  that  the  reeve  had  spoken  truly. 
Young  lads  with  no  friends  were  not  of  much  account, 
and  nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  him. 

He  sat  there  for  hours,  as  it  were  dazed  and  stunned, 
and  then  toward  evening  he  opened  his  pouch  and  took 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  207 

out  the  little  packet  and  unfastened  it.  It  contained 
half  a  groat  and  a  long  lock  of  hair.  "Oh,  Joan,"  he 
said,  "I  wonder  what  will  become  of  you  when  I  am 
gone.  I  wonder  if  any  one  will  ever  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened to  me.  Master  Mitchell  was  quite  right.  I 
should  not  have  come  back.  No,  even  for  your  sake  it 
was  better  not  to  come.  For  now  I  have  lost  every- 
thing, everything.  And  there  was  I  going  to  become  a 
carpenter  and  lay  by  a  plenty  of  money  and  come  and 
marry  you  when  I  was  big.  They  say  a  boy  can 't  love, ' ' 
he  said  bitterly;  "they  know  nothing  about  it; — I  do 
not  suppose  they  know  what  love  is.  If  only  I  were 
dying  for  you,  Joan,  I  should  be  quite  happy,  but  to  die 
for  what  I  have  not  done  .  .  .!" 

He  threw  himself  on  the  floor  and  sobbed  and  sobbed 
until  from  the  sheer  physical  exhaustion  of  the  parox- 
ysms of  grief  he  fell  asleep. 

Meanwhile  Ian  was  anxiously  awaiting  his  return. 
The  strange  feeling  that  had  possessed  him  ever  since 
the  day  that  Aline  had  talked  about  it  in  the  secret 
room  and  that  lately  had  been  somewhat  less  intense, 
came  back  stronger  than  ever.  He  could  not  explain 
it,  he  could  not  reason  about  it,  he  only  knew  that 
something  terrible  was  in  the  air  and  that  it  did  not  only 
affect  Wilfred  or  himself.  So  strong  was  the  feeling 
that  he  did  not  wait  till  the  next  morning.  He  merely 
lay  down  for  a  few  hours  and  set  off  soon  after  mid- 
night, so  as  to  reach  Kirkoswald  at  dawn.  It  was  one 
of  the  last  places  where  he  wished  to  be  seen,  but  he 
seemed  to  be  drawn  by  fate. 

He  had  grown  a  beard  while  at  Holwick  and  he 
further  disguised  himself  before  starting  by  pulling  out 


208  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

half  his  eyebrows,  which  were  thick  and  bushy,  and  like- 
wise the  hair  above  his  forehead  for  the  space  of  half 
an  inch. 

"No  one  would  be  able  to  recognise  me,  who  did  not 
actually  know  me, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  certainly  do  not  answer 
to  any  description  of  myself  that  can  have  been  sent 
around. ' ' 

He  went  to  the  different  hostels  and  gossiped  with 
every  one.  He  could  not  ask  questions  at  all  direct,  as 
that  would  have  raised  suspicion.  He  began  to  despair, 
but  at  last  his  patience  was  rewarded.  By  good  luck 
his  informant  was  a  young  farm  hand  who  had  been 
friendly  with  Wilfred  and  whose  sympathies  were 
strongly  on  his  side.  Like  every  one  else,  so  he  told 
Ian,  he  was  certain  that  Wilfred  had  committed  the  theft 
and  equally  certain  that  he  would  be  hanged;  but  in  a 
guarded  way  he  let  it  be  seen  that  he  strongly  disap- 
proved of  such  extremities. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "they  will  never  take  him  out  of 
that  little  top-room  except  to  his  trial  and  death."  Ian 
longed  to  ask  where  the  top-room  was  but  felt  it  would 
be  too  risky.  When  the  young  fellow  rose  to  leave  the 
hostel,  Ian  strolled  out.  "I  may  as  well  stretch  my 
legs,"  he  said. 

He  had  turned  the  conversation  to  other  subjects, 
but,  as  he  had  hoped,  they  passed  the  grange  and  he 
looked  up  and  remarked  casually,  "I  suppose  that's 
where  the  boy  is  of  whom  you  spoke." 

"Yes,"  said  his  companion,  "in  the  second  window." 

' '  From  the  left  or  the  right  ? "  he  managed  to  say  un- 
concernedly; "it's  strange  what  scenes  may  be  going  on 
behind  a  wall  and  no  one  know." 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  209 

"From  the  left,"  said  his  companion,  "the  one  with 
the  dripstone  half  off." 

"Poor  boy!"  Ian  said;  "how  foolish  to  risk  one's 
life,  though,  for  a  sheep ;  but  other  people 's  doings  are 
always  inexplicable.  Where  did  you  say  you  lived  your- 
self ?"  he  went  on. 

' '  A  quarter  of  a  mile  down  the  path. ' ' 

"Where  the  oaks  are?  Those  are  good  trees;  there 
must  be  some  timber  worth  having." 

Ian  did  not  return  to  the  subject  of  Wilfred  and  he 
parted  from  the  youth  as  they  neared  his  cottage.  He 
strolled  back  to  the  grange.  It  seemed  a  fairly  hope- 
less case,  ladders  would  be  impossible  without  an  ac- 
complice; moreover  there  was  a  moat  that  ran  around 
two  sides  of  the  house  and  the  window  was  over  the 
moat.  Could  he  try  and  save  the  boy  by  his  own  evi- 
dence? No,  that  was  useless.  It  might  be  of  little 
avail  in  any  case,  and,  as  he  himself  was  a  suspected  fugi- 
tive it  would  more  probably  destroy  any  slender  chance 
that  there  might  be. 

He  did  not  dare  to  linger,  but  he  cautiously  inspected 
the  situation  and  saw  a  desperate  chance.  Away  on  the 
far  side  was  a  tall  elm  tree  whose  branches  came  very 
near  the  battlement ;  the  tree  itself  was  unclimbable  but 
another  tree  whose  branches  actually  touched  the  first 
one  seemed  to  offer  an  opportunity.  It  was  that  or 
nothing. 

A  very  long  rope  was  clearly  necessary  and  how  to 
get  that  without  exciting  suspicion  was  indeed  a  prob- 
lem. Ian  secured  a  room  in  the  principal  hostel  and 
looked  round  the  stable  yard,  gossiping  with  the  ostlers. 
When  no  one  was  there  he  found  a  short  length  of  stout 


210  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

rope,  but  it  was  not  enough.  At  last  he  bethought  him 
of  his  bed  and,  on  examining  it,  he  found  that  the  rope 
carried  across  and  across  under  the  mattrass  was  nearly 
new.  This  would  mean  that  he  would  have  to  come  back 
to  the  hostel,  but  as  he  had  purposely  obtained  a  room 
on  the  ground  floor  so  as  to  be  able  to  slip  out  easily,  that 
presented  little  difficulty. 

It  was  a  dark  night  and  rain  was  falling  slightly; 
he  undid  the  rope  from  the  bed  which  was  in  two 
lengths  and  spliced  them  and  the  other  rope  together. 
As  he  set  out  his  heart  smote  him.  The  risk  was  im- 
mense. If  he  were  caught  it  was  more  than  likely  he 
would  be  hanged;  if  he  escaped  that,  there  was  a  very 
considerable  chance  of  being  recognised  as  the  escaped 
heretic  and  then  he  would  be  burnt.  But,  even  without 
being  caught,  the  operation  itself  was  so  dangerous  that 
it  was  as  like  as  not  that  he  would  break  his  neck.  Was 
he  justified  in  risking  his  life  when  Aline 's  necessities 
might  require  him?  There  certainly  seemed  no  other 
chance  for  the  boy;  he  had  thought  of  all  the  obvious 
possibilities  of  saving  him,  but  every  case  was  barred 
by  an  insuperable  objection  less  obvious,  perhaps,  but 
fatal  nevertheless.  "Why  am  I  made  so  that  I  always 
see  both  sides  so  clearly?"  he  said.  "Other  people  have 
no  such  difficulties  in  making  up  their  minds. ' ' 

It  did  not  occur  to  Ian  that  even  the  difficulty  would 
probably  have  presented  itself  to  another  man  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  lan's  problem  was  merely  when  and  for 
whom  to  risk  his  life;  some  of  us  might  hesitate  before 
risking  our  lives  at  all.  However,  after  pondering  for 
a  while  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  Aline  would 
wish  it.  That  settled  it ;  the  two  problems  disappeared ; 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  211 

there  was  only  one  problem  and  that  was  to  act  as  care- 
fully as  possible.  Aline  would  undoubtedly  counsel  that 
much. 

He  crept  along  very  quietly;  it  was  almost  too  dark; 
every  twig  that  cracked,  every  slight  stumble  that  he 
made  caused  his  heart  to  beat  violently. 

Once  he  started  a  dog  barking  and  had  to  remain  mo- 
tionless for  a  long  time,  but  the  most  trying  experience 
was  that  when  he  had  cautiously  stolen  very  near  to 
the  grange,  a  figure  on  horseback  rode  up  and  passed 
within  a  yard  of  him.  He  stepped  behind  a  tree  and 
saw  the  door  opened.  A  flood  of  light  streamed  out  and 
before  he  could  get  on  the  further  side  of  the  tree  again 
he  felt  he  must  be  seen. 

Once  more  he  waited  a  long  time  till  all  was  dark 
and  quiet.  He  climbed  the  first  tree  with  less  difficulty 
than  he  expected,  but  the  branches  of  the  two  trees 
were  further  apart  than  he  had  thought.  Finally  he 
had  to  go  up  higher  and  lay  the  rope  over  a  branch  and 
lower  himself,  holding  the  two  ends  and  then,  after 
reaching  the  other  tree,  pull  the  rope  over  the  branch 
by  one  end. 

The  rain  and  the  darkness  made  discovery  less  likely ; 
but  everything  was  slippery  and  the  difficulties  were 
greatly  increased.  Having  climbed  up  higher  he  started 
along  one  branch  but  after  he  had  reached  the  furthest 
safe  point  he  found  that  he  was  still  a  long  way  from 
the  wall. 

Again  he  tried  a  second  branch,  but,  although  a  little 
nearer,  it  was  an  awful  gulf  in  the  black  night. 

A  third  time  he  crept  slowly  along  another  slippery 
branch  that  swayed  and  bent  under  his  weight.  ' '  Sup- 


212  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

pose  the  whole  thing  should  break,  elm  trees  are  notori- 
ously treacherous,"  he  thought. 

The  branch  was  worse  than  the  second  and  he  had 
to  go  back  to  that  one.  This  time  he  managed  to  wrig- 
gle out  a  couple  of  feet  further,  where  the  branch  gave 
a  sudden  turn  upward  and  to  the  left,  parallel  to  the 
face  of  the  wall.  He  could  dimly  discern  the  top  of 
the  parapet  on  a  slightly  lower  level,  perhaps  six  feet 
distant.  He  tied  a  heavy  knot  in  the  rope  and  swung 
it  out  to  hit  the  stonework,  so  as  to  measure  the  dis- 
tance. It  was  perhaps  rather  under  than  over  seven 
feet.  But  a  seven  foot  jump  from  a  wet  swaying  branch, 
with  a  forty  foot  drop  in  the  pitch  darkness  was  a  fear- 
some task.  The  thought  made  him  feel  quite  sick  and 
the  nausea  made  his  brain  reel.  A  slight  squall  of 
wind  blew  up  and  the  branch  rocked  and  creaked 
ominously.  He  had  to  hold  on  with  all  his  strength  or 
he  would  have  fallen. 

When  he  had  recovered  himself  a  little,  a  thought 
struck  him ;  he  would  double  the  rope  and  loop  it  round 
the  branch  and  then  tie  the  ends  firmly  about  him  under 
the  arm-pits.  The  rope  was  not  very  strong ;  but  surely, 
if  doubled,  there  was  just  a  chance  of  its  standing  a 
sudden  jerk. 

After  he  had  done  this,  he  nerved  himself  for  the 
last  effort,  but  before  standing  up,  he  prayed  for  Aline 
passionately,  fervently,  as  though  the  intensity  of  his 
prayer  should  insure  its  answer.  He  then  rose  and,  bal- 
ancing himself  with  difficulty,  leaped  across.  He 
reached  the  parapet;  but  it  was  wet,  while  the  lichens 
on  it  made  it  like  glass  and  he  slipped  down,  down,  down, 
into  the  void. 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  213 

He  heard  a  laugh  as  of  a  fiend  and  saw  Aline 's  face 
blanched  with  pity;  there  was  an  awful  wrench  under 
his  arms  and  a  snap  above;  one  of  the  thicknesses  of 
rope  had  broken; — but  he  was  still  alive.  He  climbed 
hand  over  hand  feverishly,  without  pausing  an  instant, 
up  the  slimy  rope  and  then  held  on  to  the  branch,  while 
wave  after  wave  of  uncontrollable  terror  swept  over 
him.  His  excitement  was  so  violent  that  he  feared  he 
would  lose  his  reason.  He  used  all  his  will  power  to 
bring  it  under  control ;  but  he  could  not  do  it.  Must  he 
abandon  the  attempt,  could  he  ever  force  himself,  there, 
in  the  horrible  yawning  blackness  to  go  through  with 
it  again?  His  teeth  chattered  and,  do  what  he  would, 
his  hands  shook  till  he  nearly  fell  again.  Then  he 
thought  of  Aline  and  saw  her  swimming  the  river,  while 
he  rested  his  wounded  arm  upon  her  shoulder.  "Cow- 
ard," he  hissed  through  his  teeth,  ''coward.  But  oh, 
Aline,  if  only  it  were  for  you ! ' ' 

"It  is  for  her,  though  you  do  not  see  how,"  said  a 
voice  within. 

Gradually  he  grew  calmer,  so  that  by  a  supreme  ef- 
fort he  forced  himself  to  tie  the  broken  rope  and  again 
stand  up.  He  stooped  over  to  the  left,  where  the  branch 
turned,  and  holding  on  with  both  hands  he  kicked  the 
branch  till  he  broke  the  bark  a  little  and  roughened  it. 
Then  he  raised  himself  upright  and  putting  every  ounce 
of  strength  and  will  into  the  leap,  he  cleared  the  space 
and  landed  in  a  crenellation.  He  fell  and  hurt  himself 
considerably,  but  what  did  that  matter? 

Untying  the  rope  from  himself,  he  slipped  it  from 
the  tree  and  cautiously  made  his  way  round  the  parapet. 
He  had  to  climb  three  gables  and  there  were  other  dif- 


214  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

ficulties,  but  at  last  he  was  over  Wilfred's  window.  He 
slipped  the  rope  round  a  merlon  *  and  climbed  down  and 
knocked  at  the  window. 

The  boy,  who  was  sleeping  a  light  nervous  sleep,  woke 
at  once  and  luckily  had  the  good  sense  to  make  no  noise. 
Clearly  any  one  at  the  window  was  a  friend;  enemies 
came  to  the  door. 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it. 
"Gramercy,  Master  Mitchell,  is  that  you?" 

"Hush,  yes,"  said  Ian,  and  stepped  into  the  room. 
He  pulled  down  the  rope  by  one  end  and,  before  doing 
anything  else,  properly  spliced  the  broken  piece  lest  it 
should  catch. 

They  then  set  the  bed  a  trifle  nearer  to  the  window 
and  looped  the  rope  round  the  bed  post. 

"Can  you  swim,  Willie?"  said  Ian. 

"No,  Master." 

' '  That  is  very  serious, ' '  he  said,  ' '  as  this  rope  will  not 
stand  both  of  us,  and  it  is  so  dark  that  I  cannot  first 
lower  you  till  you  just  reach  the  water." 

"But  I  can  climb  well,"  said  the  boy. 

"That  is  all  right  then,  but  remember  the  rope  is 
very  wet." 

Ian  tied  the  two  ends  together  and  lowered  them 
slowly,  till  the  rope  hung  looped  at  its  middle  point 
round  the  bed  post. 

"Now,  as  you  cannot  swim  I  must  go  first.  I  only 
hope  the  rope  is  long  enough.  It  cannot  be  more  than 
a  few  feet  short  anyway,  and  worse  come  to  the  worst 
you  must  take  a  long  breath  and  drop  into  the  water. 

*  The  merlons  are  the  projecting  upright  portions  of  a  battle- 
ment. 


A  DESPERATE  TASK  215 

But  before  letting  go,  when  your  legs  are  dangling,  grip 
one  end  of  the  rope  and  hold  it,  cut  the  rope  above  and 
the  other  end  will  fly  up  and  we  can  pull  it  through.  I 
want  to  leave  no  evidence. ' ' 

Ian  gave  him  a  knife  and  then  climbed  out  and  gently 
let  himself  noiselessly  down  the  rope.  He  found  that 
the  ends  hung  about  two  and  a  half  feet  above  the  water, 
just  beyond  a  swimmer's  reach. 

Wilfred  then  followed,  full  of  apprehension.  When 
near  the  bottom  Ian  whispered, — ' '  Hold  on,  but  let  your 
feet  down  into  the  water."  As  the  boy's  feet  re'ached 
the  moat,  Ian  trod  water  and  put  his  arms  up  to  him. 
This  reassured  him;  as  the  child,  who  could  not  swim, 
naturally  shrank  from  the  plunge  into  the  black  deeps 
in  the  specially  trying  surroundings. 

' '  Cut  the  rope,  hold  the  knotted  end  tight  and  let  go, ' ' 
said  Ian.  As  the  boy  dropped,  he  caught  him  and  by 
going  under  himself  prevented  the  boy  from  being  com- 
pletely submerged. 

"Give  me  the  rope,"  and  Ian  pulled  down  a  long 
length  so  as  to  swim  over.  "Hold  on  to  me,"  and  he 
swam  across. 

Just  as  they  reached  the  bank  the  short  end  ran 
up  suddenly,  and  the  whole  rope  fell  with  a  loud  splash. 

The  two  fugitives  waited  fearfully  lest  it  should  raise 
the  alarm,  but  nothing  further  broke  the  silence  of  the 
night. 

As  they  walked,  dripping,  to  the  hostel,  Ian  said, — 
"I  wish  you  were  not  wet,  but  who  would  have  thought 
of  this?  What  shall  we  do?"  They  climbed  through 
the  window  and  Wilfred  shivered  violently,  partly  with 
cold  and  partly  with  excitement. 


216  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"I  shall  leave  the  bed  on  the  floor,"  Ian  said. 
"Come,  let  us  get  off  your  clothes."  He  stripped  the 
boy,  rubbed  him  down  with  a  dry  towel  and  put  him  into 
bed.  The  friction  started  a  warm  glow  and  he  was  soon 
all  right.  Wilfred  asked  for  his  precious  packet  and 
while  Ian  was  busy  wringing  out  their  clothes  he  opened 
it  and  dried  the  contents  and  put  it  under  his  pillow. 

At  four  o'clock  Ian  woke  him.  "I  am  so  sorry  about 
the  wet  things,  but  you  must  make  for  Carlisle  at  once 
as  best  you  may." 

"Never  mind,  I  am  warm  again  now,  and  used  often 
to  be  wet  through  all  day,  when  I  was  with  the  sheep. ' ' 

After  Wilfred  had  gone,  Ian  replaced  both  ropes  and 
put  the  bed  right.  He  stayed  in  Kirkoswald  till  nearly 
evening  so  as  not  to  attract  attention,  and  for  the  same 
reason  went  on  to  Penrith  and  returned  by  the  other 
road  to  Carlisle  the  following  day. 

He  overheard  a  little  of  the  gossip  about  the  boy's 
escape.  The  most  popular  belief  was  that  he  had  flown 
out  of  th,e  window  with  the  devil.  Those  who  prided 
themselves  on  their  superior  intellects  said  that  some  one 
had  obviously  opened  the  door  and  hidden  him  in  their 
house,  just  as  they  had  clearly  done  at  his  first  disap- 
pearance. An  orphan  boy,  however,  was  not  of  much 
value  one  way  or  the  other,  and  the  thing  as  a  prac- 
tical question  was  a  nine  days'  wonder;  although  a  fa- 
vourite topic  of  gossip,  relating  to  things  mysterious,  for 
many  a  long  day. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CARLISLE 

LUCKILY    Matthew   Musgrave,    who   had   given 
Wilfred  permission  to  go,  asked  no  questions 
beyond  inquiring  whether  he  had  settled  things 
to  his  satisfaction. 

"I  had  some  difficulties,"  said  Wilfred,  "but  every- 
thing is  all  right  now. ' ' 

Wilfred  lodged  with  Musgrave,  but  they  would  often 
both  come  round  to  the  hostelry  where  Ian  was.  On 
one  of  these  occasions  a  number  of  men  were  seated  round 
the  fire  with  tankards  of  ale,  when  a  big  burly  fellow 
came  in  and  asked  mine  host  to  draw  him  a  tankard. 
Catching  sight  of  Matthew,  he  went  up  to  him  and 
clapping  him  on  the  back,  he  asked  how  things  were 
going. 

"Well  enough,  thank  you,  Andrew,  and  how  is  all 
with  you,  now  that  you  have  settled  down  near  the  old 
place  again?" 

' '  Oh,  not  so  badly ;  it  is  harder  work  than  at  Holwick, 
but  it's  good  being  near  one's  own  folk." 

Ian  started  slightly  at  the  name  of  Holwick,  but  no 
one  noticed  and  he  guessed  that  this  must  be  Andrew 
Woolridge.  He  waited  a  moment  and  then  cautiously 
entered  the  conversation.  "Where  is  Holwick?"  he 
questioned. 

217 


218  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"It's  not  very  far  south  from  here,"  said  Andrew, 
"on  the  Tees  a  few  miles  from  Middleton." 

"What  were  you  doing  there?"  asked  Ian. 

"Oh,  I  was  working  at  Holwick  Hall,  Master  Richard 
Mowbray's  place." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  was  that?" 

"A  fine  big  place,  but  they  had  not  the  money  that 
the  family  used  to  have." 

"What  were  they  like?"  inquired  Ian. 

"Yes,  tell  us  something  about  them,"  said  Matthew; 
"you  have  never  told  us  much." 

"Oh,  they  were  all  right.  Master  Mowbray  was  ex- 
cellent and  so  were  the  young  mistresses,  but  Mistress 
Mowbray  herself  was  a  tartar." 

"Was  that  why  you  left?"  asked  little  Wilfred. 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly,"  said  Andrew.  "I  had  a  bit 
of  a  quarrel  with  them.  These  things  will  happen,  you 
know";  and  he  laughed.  "In  fact,  now  that  I  think 
over  it,  I  believe  they  were  in  the  right.  They  were  de- 
cent people,  but  queer  in  some  ways,  and  so  I  thought  I 
had  better  shift  over  here. ' ' 

"What  was  the  quarrel  about?"  asked  Matthew. 

"Oh,  that  is  too  long  a  story;  but  I  thought  they 
should  supply  me  with  enough  corn  for  the  winter  and 
they  were  not  willing.  Maybe  I  wanted  too  much ;  any- 
how I  came  away,  but  I  am  sorry  sometimes  too." 

"Why?"  said  Ian. 

"Well,  if  you  must  know  I  was  sorry  for  the  little 
mistress,  Aline  Gillespie,  who  lived  with  them.  She 
and  I  did  not  get  on  very  well;  but  Mistress  Mowbray 
treated  her  like  a  dog.  Mistress  Aline,  though,  did  me 
a  good  turn  once,  when  I  got  into  trouble,  and  some- 


CARLISLE  219 

how  I  would  have  liked  to  do  her  a  good  turn  too,  by  way 
of  paying  back.  I  do  not  like  being  in  any  one's  debt. 
But  there,  I  make  mistakes  like  most  of  the  rest  of  us. 
What  do  I  owe  you  ? "  he  said,  turning  to  the  innkeeper. 
"  It 's  time  I  was  going. ' ' 

Andrew  settled  his  score  and  was  just  leaving  when 
another  man  entered. 

"Hullo,  Andrew,"  said  the  newcomer,  "whither  away 
in  such  haste?  Come  back,  man,"  and  then  he  added 
something  in  a  low  voice  in  which  Ian  distinctly  caught 
the  word  "Hoi wick." 

This  was  a  strange  coincidence,  Ian  thought,  to  meet 
two  people  within  a  few  minutes  who  both  knew  Hoi- 
wick  and  he  wondered  who  the  newcomer  might  be.  He 
had  not  long  to  wait. 

The  stranger  turned  to  the  innkeeper  and  said, 
' '  Timothy,  man,  I  'm  back  again ;  you  've  got  a  place  for 
my  pack-horses  for  the  night,  I  hope." 

" There's  always  room  for  old  friends,"  said  the  inn- 
keeper. 

"Is  there  anything  you'll  be  buying  yourself?"  asked 
the  stranger.  "Faith,  man,  but  I've  some  fine  things, 
but  you're  getting  that  set  up  in  Carlisle  that  a  man 
who  only  brings  goods  from  Flanders  and  Italy  and 
Persia  and  India,  to  say  nothing  of  the  latest  novel- 
ties from  London,  is  hardly  likely  to  please  you.  But 
I've  got  some  rugs  now  that  would  just  stir  your  heart. 
You  never  saw  the  like.  I  have  just  refused  300  florins 
for  one  of  them,  but  I'll  let  an  old  friend  have  it  for 
that  price." 

"Oh,  stop  your  gammon,  Walter,"  said  the  inn- 
keeper. "You  need  not  tell  me  your  tales.  If  there's 


220  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

anything  good  and  cheap,  I  may  take  it,  but  I  do  not 
want  any  of  your  flowery  word  fancies. ' ' 

"Odds  bodikins!  mine  host  is  very  plain  spoken," 
rejoined  Walter,  "but  come  along,  sirs,  what  do  you 
want?"  addressing  the  little  group,  and  he  unrolled  a 
bundle  as  he  spoke. 

Although  "Walter  made  the  most  of  them,  his  wares 
really  were  thoroughly  good  stuff,  and  he  had  a  happy 
taste  in  making  his  selections;  consequently  he  always 
did  good  business  wherever  he  went,  and  it  was  ru- 
moured that  he  had  a  pretty  pile  laid  by  for  a  rainy  day. 

He  sold  a  few  things  to  those  present  and  was  roll- 
ing up  the  bundle,  when  Ian  caught  sight  of  a  singularly 
beautiful  silver  buckle  of  admirable  design  and  work- 
manship. It  was  of  a  superior  class  to  most  of  the 
trinkets  that  the  packman  had  with  him.  He  said  noth- 
ing at  the  time  but  waited  for  a  more  favourable  op- 
portunity, as  the  packman  was  staying  for  the  night. 

In  the  evening  Ian  and  the  packman  were  seated  alone 
at  the  fire.  Ian  looked  around  carefully,  the  door  was 
shut,  so  he  decided  that  he  might  broach  the  subject  of 
Holwick. 

"I  suppose  you  travel  far,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  Master  Mitchell,  I  cover  the  length  of  the  coun- 
try once  every  year,  but  I  work  mainly  in  the  north  be- 
tween here  and  York." 

"Are  you  going  to  York  now?" 

"Well,  I  expect  to  do — after  a  time;  but  I  am  going 
to  Hexham  and  Newcastle  and  Durham  and  shall  then 
work  my  way  up  the  Wear  and  down  the  Tees  and  prob- 
ably up  Wensley  dale." 

"Do  you  know  Upper  Teesdale?" 


CARLISLE  221 

"Why,  yes,  but  it's  an  out  of  the  way  place.  Yet, 
do  you  know, — many  of  these  out  of  the  way  places  are 
my  best  customers.  When  I  was  last  there  I  sold  a  large 
quantity  to  Master  Richard  Mowbray  of  Holwick 
Hall." 

"You  know  them  then?" 

"In  a  business  way,  yes,"  said  Walter. 

"There's  a  little  girl  that  is  living  there,  that  I  know 
slightly,"  said  Ian. 

"What,  Mistress  Aline  Gillespie!  the  bonniest  child 
I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  I  shall  never  forget  that  child, 
although  I  have  only  seen  her  once.  'Sdeath,  man,  she 
has  the  face  of  an  angel  and  the  soul  of  one  too,  beshrew 
me  if  she  has  not. ' ' 

"Well,  she  comes  from  my  country,  although  I  can- 
not say  that  I  have  any  extended  acquaintance  with  her 
any  more  than  you  have." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that  bairn,"  said  Walter,  lowering 
his  voice  and  looking  round ;  ' '  she  has  none  too  happy  a 
time  with  the  Mowbrays.  But  there,  it  may  be  gossip, ' ' 
he  continued,  as  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  not  sure  of  his  listener.  "One  hears  such  funny 
tales  as  one  goes  about  the  country;  one  does  not  know 
what  to  believe." 

"You  are  going  that  way  again  then?"  said  Ian. 

"Yes,  yes,  and  perchance  if  you  know  the  child,  you 
would  like  me  to  tell  her  that  I  had  seen  you. ' ' 

' '  May  be  so ;  and  I  might  send  her  one  of  your  trinkets. 
I  saw  a  little  buckle  that  might  take  her  fancy." 

Walter  got  up  and  fetched  the  bundle  and  produced 
the  buckle.  "Honestly,  man,"  he  said,  "that  is  a  more 
expensive  class  of  thing  than  most  of  my  stuff;  but  I 


222  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

will  let  you  have  it  cheap.  Yes,  really  cheap;  I  know 
you  think  I  always  talk  like  that,  but  I  swear  I  am 
speaking  true." 

There  was  an  earnestness  in  the  man's  tone  and  man- 
ner that  was  quite  unlike  his  usual  jaunty  way  of  talk- 
ing and  Ian  felt  he  might  venture  to  say  more. 

"I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "Well,  I  will  buy  it  and 
send  a  letter  with  it,  but  promise  me  that  no  one  else  shall 
see  you  give  it  to  her." 

' '  You  know  the  old  cat  too,  then,  do  you  ? ' '  said  Mar- 
grove,  a  little  off  his  guard. 

"Mistress  Mowbray,  you  mean,"  said  Ian.  "Well,  I 
know  about  her;  and  in  these  days  least  said  is  soonest 
mended." 

"Yes,  we  dwell  in  strange  times,"  the  packman  re- 
sponded, ' '  the  land  has  passed  through  sad  experiences, ' ' 
and  then,  fearing  he  might  have  said  too  much,  he  added, 
' '  Maybe  it  is  all  right,  but  I  have  no  fancy  to  see  human 
flesh  fry." 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  Ian.  "I  saw  them  burn  George 
Wishart,  and  I  shall  not  forget  that  on  this  side  of  my 
grave. ' ' 

"It's  my  belief,"  said  Walter,  "that  the  church  does 
itself  more  harm  than  good  by  the  burnings ;  it  does  not 
have  the  effect  that  they  expect." 

"I  believe  your  sympathy  is  with  those  who  are 
burned, ' '  said  Ian,  looking  at  him  keenly. 

"Maybe  it  is  and  maybe  it  isn't;  but  anyway  I  say 
that  Mother  Church  does  not  always  see  where  her  own 
interests  lie.  But  my  business  is  chaffering  and  I  do 
not  meddle  in  these  matters,  see  you  there." 

1 '  Tut,  tut,  man,  you  need  not  mind  me,  say  what  you 


CARLISLE  223 

like.  I  care  for  the  burning  no  more  than  you  do  and 
no  finger  of  mine  would  ever  be  stirred  to  get  a  man  into 
trouble." 

"Well,  neighbour,"  said  Hargrove,  "you  speak  fair, 
neither  would  I.  If  George  Wishart  had  come  to  me 
I  should  not  have  told  them  where  to  find  him. ' ' 

"Then  keep  my  secret,"  said  Ian,  "and  give  Mistress 
Aline  the  buckle  without  a  soul  knowing  it.  While  I 
am  about  it, ' '  he  added,  ' '  I  will  take  this  chatelaine,  and 
that  will  do  for  the  other  little  mistress." 

"Then  it  was  not  only  in  Scotland  that  you  knew 
Mistress  Aline,"  remarked  Walter,  looking  at  him 
shrewdly. 

Ian  was  half  sorry  that  he  had  said  so  much,  he  might 
have  enclosed  the  chatelaine  for  Audry  without  telling 
Walter  Margrove ;  but  he  said  off-handedly ; — ' '  The  Gil- 
lespies  lived  in  Scotland,  but  were  cousins  of  Richard 
Mowbray.  I  have  never  seen  him,  but  I  know  he  has  a 
daughter. ' ' 

"Ay,  he  has  a  daughter,  and  she  would  be  worth  go- 
ing some  way  to  see  too;  only  she  is  outshone  by  her 
cousin.  But  Mistress  Audry  is  a  bonnie  lassockie  and 
will  make  a  fine  woman.  Yet  it's  a  pity  the  Mowbrays 
have  no  boy.  It 's  a  sad  thing  for  the  family  to  die  out. ' ' 

Both  men  were  silent  for  a  time  and  then  Margrove 
spoke.  He  looked  at  Ian  questioningly, — "I  believe  I 
have  seen  your  face  before,"  he  said;  "your  name's 
not  James  Mitchell."  He  gave  the  fire  a  stir,  and  as 
the  flame  shot  up  he  said,  "Were  you  ever  at  North- 
ampton ? ' ' 

"I  was,"  said  Ian. 

"Then  you  are  the  man  to  whom  I  owe  everything. 


224  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Why  did  I  not  recognise  you  before  ?  I  have  heard  they 
had  seized  you  and  I  heard  afterwards  that  you  had 
escaped  to  France, — see  this,"  he  went  on,  drawing  a 
small  copy  of  the  New  Testament  from  his  doublet.  "I 
have  not  the  courage  to  go  about  as  you  do;  but  I  too 
have  done  a  little,  and,  if  need  be,  I  hope  I  shall  have 
strength  not  to  deny  the  faith." 

There  was  silence  again,  this  time  Ian  spoke.  "I 
wonder  if  you  know  where  a  Greek  Testament  could  be 
obtained,  you  travel  much  and  see  many  things." 

"It  is  strange  that  you  should  say  that.  I  have  two 
concealed  in  an  inner  pouch  in  my  pack,  that  have  come 
over  from  Amsterdam  and  I  was  taking  them  to  Master 
Shipley  near  York,  who  had  asked  me  to  obtain  one  for 
him." 

"Then  will  you  let  me  have  the  better  one  and  take 
it  along  with  the  buckle?" 

"Is  that  it,  then?"  said  Margrove.  "Poor  child,  poor 
child!" 

"No,"  said  Ian,  "you  are  wrong,  they  do  not  know 
at  Holwick  that  the  child  has  any  thoughts  that  way; 
you  must  act  with  all  the  caution  you  can  command." 

Walter  brought  the  testaments  and  Ian  chose  the 
smaller  one,  which  was  most  beautifully  bound  with  lit- 
tle silver  clasps.  Walter  wanted  not  to  charge  for  it, 
but  Ian  pointed  out  that  that  would  deprive  him  of  the 
pleasure  of  being  the  donor. 

"Before  we  retire,"  said  Ian,  "I  should  like  to  ask 
you  how  you  came  to  meet  Andrew  Woolridge.  Do 
you  know  his  story?  You  can  be  quite  open  with  me, 
as  I  know  why  he  left  Holwick." 

"Then  for  heaven's  sake  don't  tell  the  people  here," 


CARLISLE  225 

said  Walter.  ' '  The  man  is  consumed  by  remorse,  though 
he  tries  to  pass  it  off  lightly.  He  is  honestly  trying  to 
do  everything  that  he  can.  You  are  not  the  only  one 
who  has  sent  a  present  to  Mistress  Aline.  I  can  tell 
you  that  much,  and  if  Andrew  knew  who  you  were,  he 
would  not  mind.  He  is  a  changed  man  since  he  left 
Holwick.  He  told  me  that  the  vision  of  the  child 
haunted  him  day  and  night. 

"He  does  not  like  to  talk  about  the  child,  but  really, 
if  I  believed  in  spells,  I  should  think  the  child  had  magic 
in  her.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  completely  spell  bound 
and  I  must  confess  that  although  I  only  saw  her  once, 
she  holds  me  almost  as  though  I  were  enchanted." 

"It  is  the  same  here,"  said  Ian. 

"It  is  a  most  marvellous  thing,"  Walter  continued, 
"because  she  seems  quite  unconscious  of  it;  not  in  all 
my  experience  have  I  ever  met  or  heard  of  anything 
like  it  before.  That's  three  of  us,  in  fact  the  only  peo- 
ple that  we  know  anything  about,  and  it  may  be  the 
same  with  every  one  she  meets." 

They  talked  a  little  longer  and  Ian  discussed  his  plans 
for  taking  up  the  packman's  life  when  he  had  gathered 
sufficient  money,  as  a  means  of  spreading  his  message 
through  the  land.  Then  as  the  hour  was  getting  late 
they  went  to  their  rooms. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   DIPLOMATIC   VICTORY 

IAN  had  started  a  letter  to  Aline  some  time  before, 
using  the  parchment  with  the  holes.  This  he  fin- 
ished and  carefully  wrapped  it  up  with  the  buckle, 
the  testament  and  the  chatelaine. 

In  the  morning  he  found  Walter  and  drew  him  aside. 
' '  She  may  have  a  letter  to  send  back, ' '  he  said,  ' '  so  try 
and  give  her  an  opportunity.  Keep  your  eyes  and  ears 
open  too,  and  find  out  and  tell  me  everything  that  you 
can." 

Walter  Hargrove  put  the  packet  inside  his  doublet, 
and,  after  settling  the  girths  of  his  horses,  shook  hands 
warmly  with  Ian,  mounted  and  rode  away  down  Eng- 
lish Street  to  the  South  Gate,  leaving  Ian  looking  after 
him,  as  he  gradually  drew  away. 

He  had  a  long  journey  before  him  and  his  thoughts 
were  full  of  the  man  he  had  left  behind.  He  had  heard 
Ian  Menstrie  speak  at  an  open  air  meeting  in  Northamp- 
ton, and  at  first  had  been  struck  by  the  fiery  eloquence 
of  the  young  Scot  and  had  then  been  arrested  by  his 
message.  He  had  always  longed  to  meet  him  again ;  and 
here  he  was,  actually  able  to  do  him  a  small  service. 
Then  his  thoughts  turned  to  Holwick  and  the  beautiful 
irresistible  child  that  had  so  strangely  fascinated  him, 
in  spite  of  himself,  in  the  few  minutes  that  he  had  seen 

226 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  227 

her.  He  had  not  liked  to  question  Master  Menstrie,  but 
he  wondered  what  could  be  the  connection  between  the 
two ;  what  could  the  child,  obviously  a  lady,  have  to  do 
with  Menstrie,  a  common  carpenter?  Truly  it  was  a 
remarkable  world. 

He  reached  Haltwhistle  that  evening  and  did  a  little 
business  there  on  the  following  day  and  called  at  a  num- 
ber of  outlying  houses  on  the  way  to  Hexham.  Busi- 
ness was  good  and  it  was  nearly  three  weeks  before  he 
found  himself  turning  his  horses'  heads  over  Middle- 
ton  bridge  to  reach  the  hamlet  that  has  a  way  in  but 
no  way  out.  "No  wonder  they  say,  'do  as  they  do  in 
Holwick,'  "  he  muttered, — the  local  proverb  for  "do- 
ing without,"  as  his  horse  stumbled  in  the  thick  muddy 
track. 

Somehow  he  felt  full  of  forebodings  as  he  approached 
the  Hall. 

Fortune  favoured  him  in  one  respect,  however,  as  he 
met  Aline  herself  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  gate. 
She  smiled  brightly  when  she  saw  him,  and  held  up 
her  hand.  He  took  the  little  hand  and  then  dismounted 
and  led  the  horse.  "I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  come," 
she  said ;  ' '  I  have  been  looking  for  you  for  a  long  time. 
You  look  tired.  I  wonder  if  Elspeth  could  get  you  some- 
thing nice  before  you  have  to  undo  your  pack.  I'll 
run  on  and  ask  her. ' ' 

Before  he  could  stop  her  she  had  run  on,  and  he  had 
to  mount  his  horse  and  trot  after  her  and  call; — "Not 
so  fast,  Mistress  Aline,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you 
and  we  may  not  get  another  opportunity.  Here  is  a 
small  packet  from  Master  Menstrie.  Hide  it  in  your 
dress."  Aline 's  eyes  shone  with  sudden  pleasure;  but 


228  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

as  Walter  looked  at  her  he  thought  she  was  not  looking 
well. 

' '  How  did  you  find  him  ?  Do  you  know  him  ?  Where 
is  he?  How  is  he?  What  is  he  doing?"  said  Aline,  all 
in  a  breath. 

"Softly,  softly,  fair  and  softly;  one  question  at  a 
time,"  said  Walter.  "I  found  him  in  Carlisle,  and  by 
accident  I  mentioned  Holwick  and  he  sent  this  to  you." 

"But  how  is  he  and  what  is  he  doing?"  asked  Aline. 

' '  He  seems  fairly  well  and  is  working  as  a  carpenter. ' ' 

Aline  looked  surprised.  "I  did  not  know  he  was  a 
carpenter,"  she  said.  Ian  had  not  spoken  much  about 
his  past  life.  She  remembered  him  saying  something 
about  working  on  hinges,  but  she  had  thought  of  him  in 
that  connexion  as  a  master  artist,  and  so  humble  an  oc- 
cupation to  one  of  her  birth  and  surroundings  was  a 
little  bit  of  a  shock;  but  she  checked  it  instantaneously 
and  added,  "But  I  expect  he  is  a  very  good  carpenter." 

Walter  Margrove  was  puzzled.  Aline  then  apparently 
did  not  know  a  great  deal  about  Ian  Menstrie  and  he 
did  not  know  how  much  to  say  and  how  much  to  leave 
unsaid. 

"I  am  afraid  I  do  not  know  very  much  about  him," 
Walter  deemed  the  safest  reply;  "but  he  seemed  to  be 
getting  on  all  right." 

Aline  too  felt  something  of  the  same  sort,  while  Walter 
thought  it  best  to  change  the  subject,  and  added, — "But 
I  have  something  else  for  you,  Mistress  Aline."  He 
produced  another  small  packet,  which  he  undid,  and  took 
out  a  beautiful  carved  ivory  comb.  "This,"  he  said,  "is 
from  Andrew  Woolridge.  You  can  let  the  others  see  it 
if  you  like,  but  perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  not."  Wai- 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  229 

ter  was  thinking  that  it  would  be  best  not  to  call  the 
attention  of  people  to  the  fact  that  he  was  in  any  way 
a  means  of  communication  between  Aline  and  others. 
' '  Andrew  cannot  write,  like  Master  Menstrie,  but  he  bade 
me  tell  you  that  he  wished  you  well  and  that  he  hoped 
some  day  to  show  himself  worthy  of  your  forgiveness, 
but  that  meantime  he  would  say  nothing  more. ' ' 

Aline  was  quite  overcome  for  a  moment.  "I  am 
afraid  I  judged  him  too  harshly,  and  he  has  already  sent 
something  to  Master  Mowbray." 

"Yes,"  said  Walter,  "I  think  the  man  has  turned 
over  a  new  leaf.  But  we  are  near  the  house  and  I  want 
also  to  give  you  a  little  thing  from  myself;  it  is  only 
a  length  of  fine  linen,  but  it  may  be  as  useful  as  trinkets. 
I  have  it  here  in  my  holster.  If  you  do  not  care  to  be 
seen  with  it,  I  daresay  old  Elspeth  will  manage  it  for 
us." 

"But  you  must  not  give  me  things,"  said  Aline. 
"Why  should  you?" 

"Well,  Mistress  Aline,  I  know  of  something  in  Mas- 
ter Menstrie 's  package,  as  he  bought  it  from  me,  and  I 
fear  me  that  you  will  meet  with  trouble.  Pray  God 
the  way  may  be  smooth  to  you ;  but  it  is  not  so  for  many 
who  have  dared  to  read  the  Scriptures  for  themselves. 
I  am  of  the  reformed  faith  myself  and  He  has  dealt 
mercifully  with  me ;  for  I  know  I  am  a  weak  vessel.  But 
remember  you  have  only  to  call  on  Walter  Margrove 
and  if  ever  he  can  help  you  he  will  do  it. ' ' 

"Good  day  to  you,  Walter,"  said  the  voice  of  Master 
Mowbray.  They  were  approaching  the  drawbridge  and 
there  was  no  opportunity  for  further  conversation. 

Master  Mowbray  was  coming  out,  but  he  turned  back 


230  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

when  he  saw  them  approaching.  "So  you  have  fetched 
the  packman  and  all  his  fine  wares,"  he  said  to  Aline. 
"Are  you  trying  to  buy  up  the  best  things  before  we 
get  a  chance,  lassie?" 

The  thud  of  the  hoofs  on  the  drawbridge  and  their 
clatter  on  the  stones  within,  had  already  drawn  forth 
heads  from  the  windows  and  in  a  moment  a  crowd  of  per- 
sons was  gathering  round  Walter  and  asking  him  a  hun- 
dred questions. 

Walter  answered  the  questions  as  well  as  he  could 
and  made  his  way  to  the  great  hall,  where  Mistress  Mow- 
bray  had  the  first  chance  of  inspecting  his  stock. 

She  was  in  a  more  affable  mood  than  usual  and  laid 
in  a  good  supply  of  materials,  amongst  others  some  very 
fine  kersey,  which  she  said  should  be  used  to  make  a 
cote-hardie  for  each  of  the  children,  and  a  piece  of  ap- 
plied embroidery  for  orphreys.*  Audry  was  standing 
with  her  arm  round  Aline,  next  to  Walter,  and,  as  Mis- 
tress Mowbray  turned  aside  to  examine  some  silk  nearer 
the  light,  he  slipped  the  parcel  of  linen  into  her  hand 
and  whispered  that  it  was  for  Aline. 

It  was  somewhat  late  in  the  day  when  Walter  arrived, 
so  that  he  decided  that  it  was  necessary  to  stay  the  night. 
His  horses  were  stabled  at  the  Hall  and  he  himself 
lodged  at  the  house  of  Janet  Arnside. 

Walter  knew  that  she  had  recently  come  over  to  the 
new  faith  and  he  sought  an  opportunity  for  a  meeting 
with  two  or  three  others  in  her  house.  They  came  very 
quietly,  but  their  coming  was  not  likely  to  arouse  sus- 
picion, as  the  packman  was  considered  good  company 
wherever  he  went. 

*  Broad  bands  of  applied  embroidery. 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  231 

After  they  had  all  gone  Walter  began  to  talk  about 
Aline,  her  strange  power  of  fascination  and  her  unique, 
almost  unearthly  beauty.  "I  wonder  if  the  child  can 
be  happy  up  there,"  he  said. 

"I  doubt  if  she  is,"  said  Janet;  "she  comes  in  here 
often  and  John  and  I  have  many  times  noticed  a  far- 
away wistful  look  in  those  deep  blue  eyes  of  hers,  bright 
and  cheerful  as  she  always  is." 

"I  wish,  Mother,  she  could  hold  our  faith,"  said 
John.  "I  am  sure  it  would  make  her  happier.  Life 
has  been  a  great  deal  more  to  me  since  these  things  first 
came  my  way." 

Walter  sat  and  said  nothing;  he  thought  that  on  the 
whole  it  was  far  safer  for  little  Aline  if  no  one  knew. 
"Poor  little  soul,"  he  said  to  himself,  "it  is  a  different 
matter  for  these  people  who  can  confide  in  each  other, 
with  no  one  else  in  the  house;  but  for  her,  sweet  inno- 
cent, it  is  indeed  a  case  of  the  dove  in  the  eagle's  nest." 

John  watched  Walter's  thoughtful  face  and  then  said, 
"Is  there  anything  we  could  do  for  her?" 

"Not  that  I  can  see,"  said  Walter;  "but  look  you, 
there  might  be;  the  child,  as  we  know,  is  not  exactly 
among  friends  and  none  can  say  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth.  She  has  had  a  narrow  escape  already.  You 
keep  a  careful  look-out,  my  lad,  and  if  ever  you  can  get 
a  chance  you  can  let  Walter  Margrove  know  all  that 
goes  on.  By  my  halidame,  I  would  not  have  any  harm 
come  to  the  bairn.  I  do  not  know  why  she  has  got  such 
a  hold  on  me,  but  so  it  is. ' ' 

"That  will  I  do,"  said  John,  "she  has  the  same  hold 
on  all  of  us.  There  can  hardly  be  a  man  or  woman  in 
the  parish  that  would  not  die  for  that  child.  They  just 


232  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

worship  her.  Those  of  the  old  faith  are  sure  she  is  a 
saint.  I  should  not  be  surprised  but  that  they  say  pray- 
ers to  her,  and  she  is  sweetly  unconscious  of  it  all.  You 
know  old  Benjamin  Darley?  Well,  I  was  passing  his 
house  the  other  day,  and  Mistress  Aline  was  seated  near 
the  door  with  her  feet  on  a  little  wooden  stool.  She 
rose  up  when  she  saw  me  and  said  good-bye,  as  she 
wanted  to  come  and  see  my  mother ;  but  ran  across  into 
Peter's  cottage  to  fetch  something.  Old  Benjamin  did 
not  see  me,  as  I  stood  there  waiting,  but  I  saw  him  pick 
up  the  stool  and  kiss  it  reverently  and  put  it  away  on 
the  shelf,  while  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes." 

"I  guess,  lad,  you  have  done  the  same,"  said  Walter. 

' '  And  what  about  yourself,  Walter  ? ' '  said  John,  evad- 
ing the  question. 

' '  Maybe  I  do  not  get  such  opportunities ;  are  you  com- 
ing up  to  the  Hall  with  me  to-morrow  to  see  me  off?" 

"No,  I  must  be  off  to  work,  but  good  luck  to  you." 

So  the  next  day  Walter  said  good-bye  to  Janet  and 
went  up  to  the  Hall.  He  met  Elspeth  in  the  courtyard. 
' '  Good  morning,  neighbour,  how  is  all  with  you  and  how 
is  your  bonnie  little  mistress?" 

"I  am  doing  as  well  as  can  be  expected,  and  Mistress 
Audry  is  not  ailing." 

"I  meant  Mistress  Aline,  not  that  Mistress  Audry  is 
not  as  bonnie  a  child  as  one  would  meet  in  a  nine  days' 
march. ' ' 

"Ay  and  a  good  hearted  one  too,  neighbour,"  said 
Elspeth.  "It's  not  every  child  who  would  take  kindly 
to  ranking  second  after  they  had  always  been  reckoned 
the  bonniest  in  the  whole  countryside.  But  there,  Mis- 
tress Aline  might  give  herself  airs,  and  yet  one  really 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  233 

could  not  tell  that  she  knew  she  was  pretty;  so  I  do  not 
think  it  has  ever  occurred  to  Mistress  Audry  to  mind 
and  she  just  enjoys  looking  at  her.  They  are  fine  bairns 
both  of  them." 

"Ay,  they  are  that,"  said  Walter. 

' '  I  just  pray, ' '  continued  Elspeth,  ' '  that  I  may  live  to 
see  them  well  settled.  My  mother  served  in  the  Hall 
and  my  grandmother  and  her  father  and  his  father 
again,  and  so  it  is.  As  long  as  there  is  a  Mowbray  I 
hope  there  will  be  some  of  our  blood  to  serve  them  and 
Mistress  Gillespie  is  a  Mowbray,  mind  you  that,  and 
some  say,"  she  went  on  in  a  whisper,  "that  she  should 
be  the  Mistress  of  Holwick.  It  was  a  new  place  when 
the  old  man  built  it,  the  old  Mowbray  property  is  down 
Middleton  way  and  is  now  let.  Maybe,  if  there's  any- 
thing in  it,  that's  partly  why  Mistress  Mowbray  does 
not  love  the  child.  But  there,  it  is  all  gossip,  and  I 
must  be  moving." 

Walter  settled  his  packs  and  took  as  long  over  it  as 
he  could  in  the  hope  of  catching  sight  of  Aline.  In 
this  he  was  successful,  for  a  few  minutes  afterwards  he 
saw  the  children,  who  were  really  looking  for  him. 
Aline  handed  him  a  letter  for  Ian  and  asked  how  soon 
he  expected  to  be  able  to  deliver  it. 

' '  I  wish  we  could  see  him, ' '  said  Audry  involuntarily. 

Aline  looked  at  her  and  Audry  subsided. 

But  Walter,  who  spent  his  life  studying  human  na- 
ture, saw  the  glance  and  began  to  puzzle  it  out.  "So 
Ian  Menstrie  does  know  both  the  children  then  and  it 
was  not  a  mere  matter  of  courtesy  to  send  the  chatelaine 
for  Audry.  But  this  is  very  curious,"  he  reasoned. 
"Janet  Arnside  has  not  mentioned  him  nor  have  any 


234  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

others  of  the  reformed  faith.  Strange  how  he  could  be 
in  Holwick  and  not  see  them.  And  I  mind  too,  that  he 
said  he  had  never  seen  Richard  Mowbray.  Truly  it  is 
mystifying." 

Another  thing  that  perplexed  him  was  Janet  and 
John's  desire  that  Mistress  Aline  should  hear  of  the 
faith.  Obviously,  she  knew  of  it  and  yet  they  were  un- 
aware of  the  fact.  He  began  to  see  daylight; — some- 
how the  children  must  have  found  Menstrie  in  some  hid- 
ing place.  Walter  was  too  cautious  a  man  to  mention 
anything  that  he  discovered  in  his  journeys  that  might 
conceivably  bring  mischief,  and  too  honourable  a  man  to 
try  and  discover  a  secret  that  clearly  did  not  concern  him. 

The  children  seemed  to  cling  to  Walter  as  though 
loth  to  let  him  go  and  even  after  he  had  mounted  his 
horse  they  accompanied  him  a  long  way  down  the  road ; 
then,  fearing,  if  they  went  too  far,  it  might  give  rise  to 
questionings  they  bade  good-bye  and  after  waiting  to 
wave  a  last  farewell  as  he  reached  the  next  bend  they 
turned  reluctantly  back. 

"You  should  not  have  said  that  just  now,"  observed 
Aline. 

"Said  what,  dear?" 

"Said  that  you  wanted  to  see  Ian.  Of  course  Mar- 
grove  may  really  know  Ian  and  his  affairs  but  he  may  be 
doing  this  as  a  kindness  to  a  stranger  and  probably  he 
did  not  know  that  Ian  had  ever  been  here,  he  might 
simply  have  met  my  family  in  Scotland." 

"Well,  all  this  suspicion  and  concealment  is  not  like 
you,  Aline,"  said  Audry. 

"Oh,  dear,"  Aline  answered,  "yes,  I  do  not  like  it; 
life  is  really  too  hard." 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  235 

The  children  had  reached  the  Hall  and  went  up  to 
their  own  room  to  undo  the  package.  Aline  opened  it 
and  within  were  the  smaller  packets  marked  respectively, 
—''For  Audry"  and  "For  Aline." 

Both  uttered  a  cry  of  delight  as  they  beheld  their 
treasure. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  hardly  be  able  to  wear  the 
chatelaine,"  said  Aline,  as  she  bent  affectionately  over 
her  cousin.  "I  am  so  sorry." 

"Not  just  now  perhaps,  and  you  will  not  be  able  to 
wear  the  buckle,  but  isn  't  it  beautiful  and  was  it  not  good 
of  him  to  remember  that  that  was  what  I  asked  for ;  and 
after  New  Year's  Day,  when  I  have  had  other  presents, 
I  do  not  think  it  would  be  noticed.  I  have  always  wanted 
a  chatelaine  so  badly." 

Aline 's  long  hair  had  fallen  forward  as  she  stooped; 
she  tossed  it  over  her  shoulder  with  the  back  of  her 
hand  and  rose  and  held  out  the  buckle  to  catch  the  light. 
It  was  far  the  finest  thing  she  had  ever  possessed.  For- 
tune was  not  so  unkind  after  all.  Here  was  a  treasure 
indeed ! 

"Now  we  must  see  how  the  chatelaine  looks,"  she 
said,  dropping  to  her  knees  and  sitting  back  on  her  heels, 
while  she  attached  the  chatelaine  to  Audry 's  belt.  Then 
a  thought  struck  her.  "Let  us  also  see  the  effect  of  the 
buckle,"  she  went  on  with  a  laugh,  and  the  sensitive 
fingers  deftly  adjusted  the  buckle  to  seem  as  if  it  were 
fastened  to  the  belt. 

"Oh,  they  do  go  well  together!  Audry,  they  look 
charming ! ' '  Would  Ian  mind,  she  wondered  to  herself ; 
no,  he  would  like  her  to  be  generous.  So,  stifling  a  touch 
of  regret,  she  said  aloud,  "They  look  so  nice  that  you 


236  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

must  keep  the  buckle";  and  she  pulled  Audry  down  to 
the  floor  and  smothered  her  objections  with  kisses. 

Then  she  sat  up  somewhat  dishevelled  and  reached 
over  for  the  Testament.  "You  wanted  a  chatelaine  and 
I  wanted  a  Greek  Testament.  Isn't  it  a  lovely  book?" 
and  she  fastened  and  unfastened  the  chastely  designed 
clasps.  ' '  With  the  help  of  the  Latin  I  shall  soon  be  able 
to  read  it.  I  am  so  glad  I  can  read  Latin  easily.  I 
must  keep  it  in  the  secret  room,  I  suppose.  It  would 
have  been  safe  in  the  library;  but  Ian  has  written  my 
name  in  it." 

"Master  Menstrie  is  not  as  cautious  as  he  might  be," 
observed  Audry,  ' '  but  I  must  not  stay  here,  Mother  and 
Elspeth  want  me,  to  go  over  my  clothes.  Then  there 
are  those  people  coming  to-morrow  about  that  Newbiggin 
matter  and  she  may  want  me  to  have  some  special  gown. 
Good-bye." 

Aline  was  left  alone.  So  to-morrow  was  actually  the 
day  they  were  coming!  She  had  gathered  her  informa- 
tion, but  she  had  not  laid  her  plans.  Somehow  or  other 
those  people  at  Newbiggin  must  not  be  unjustly  treated. 
Mistress  Mowbray  must  not  have  her  own  way  in  the 
matter  if  she  could  prevent  it. 

She  found  herself,  therefore,  definitely  setting  out  to 
fight  Mistress  Mowbray.  She  had  never  before  quite 
realised  that  it  was  an  actual  contest  of  wills ;  but,  when 
she  came  to  think  about  it,  Mistress  Mowbray  had  been 
making  so  aggressive  a  display  of  her  power  lately  that 
Aline  did  not  altogether  shrink  from  a  trial  of  strength, 
as  though  she  had  been  challenged;  in  fact  she  rather 
enjoyed  it.  The  problem  was,  how  was  it  to  be  carried 
through  ? 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  237 

It  was  certainly  not  likely  that  she  would  be  invited 
to  the  discussion.  If  she  came  in,  as  it  were  by  acci- 
dent, she  would  undoubtedly  be  turned  out.  She  must 
get  Master  Gower  on  her  side  beforehand  anyway. 
After  that  there  were  several  possible  plans  of  cam- 
paign. They  were  certain  to  have  a  meal  first  and  one 
plan  would  be  to  raise  the  subject  herself  and  get  it  dis- 
cussed at  the  table,  another  would  be  privily  to  inter- 
view every  guest,  if  opportunity  offered. 

She  decided  that  she  would  go  and  see  Master  Gower 
alone  and  set  out  on  foot  to  Middleton.  She  crossed 
the  bridge  and  turned  up  to  the  left  bank  of  the  river 
till  she  came  to  Pawlaw  Tower.  It  was  a  small  pele  with 
a  barmkin.* 

After  being  admitted  at  the  gate,  she  asked  to  see  the 
master,  and  was  conducted  up  a  narrow  wooden  stair- 
way to  the  hall,  which  was  on  the  first  floor. 

"What  would  you  have  with  me,  little  maid?"  said 
Hugh  Gower,  as  the  child  came  in. 

Aline  had  been  very  nervous,  but  his  kindly  manner 
reassured  her.  "I  want  to  talk  about  the  people  of 
Newbiggin,"  she  said. 

' '  The  people  of  Newbiggin !  and  a  sorry  set  of  loons, 
too!"  and  his  face  clouded  a  little.  "What  have  you 
to  say  about  them,  fair  child!" 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  that  they  be  not  all  dispos- 
sessed." 

"By  all  accounts,"  he  replied,  "the  sooner  there 
standeth  not  stone  upon  stone,  nor  one  stick  by  another 
of  all  that  place,  the  better  will  it  be  for  the  country- 
side." 

*  A  small  tower  with  a  little  enclosure  or  courtyard. 


238  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Not  so,"  she  said,  looking  fearlessly  at  him,  "it 
would  be  a  right  sore  thing  that  the  innocent  should 
suffer."  Aline  was  no  sentimentalist  and  was  quite 
willing  that  the  wicked  should  suffer  their  deserts  ac- 
cording to  the  stern  measures  of  the  day;  but  this  pro- 
posal of  indiscriminate  chastisement  had  roused  the  met- 
tle of  the  high  spirited  child. 

"How  now,  Mistress  Aline  Gillespie;  but  you  are  too 
young  to  understand  these  things.  Children's  hearts 
are  too  soft  and  if  we  hearkened  to  what  they  said,  there 
would  be  an  end  to  all  order. ' ' 

"Marry,  no,"  she  answered  boldly,  drawing  herself 
up,  "  it  is  order  I  want  to  see  and  not  disorder.  Punish 
the  guilty  and  spare  the  innocent.  Wanton  destruction 
is  not  order,  and  that  indeed  liketh  me  not." 

"It  is  a  nest  of  scoundrels,  little  maid,  and  all  your 
pretty  haughtiness  cannot  save  them." 

' '  Some  of  them  are  scoundrels,  I  know,  harry  them  as 
ye  may,  but  some  are  god-fearing  folk  that  never  did 
harm  to  you  or  other.  I  know  one  carline  there,  whose 
like  would  be  hard  to  find  by  all  Tees-side." 

Her  mien  was  irresistible.  "Come  sit  and  talk,"  he 
said.  So  Aline  pleaded  for  the  better  folk,  while  she 
spared  no  condemnation  of  the  worse. 

She  not  only  gained  her  point,  but  she  gained  a  staunch 
ally  as  well.  Master  Hugh  fell  under  her  witchery  and 
nothing  would  content  him,  but  that  he  should  find  her 
a  horse  and  ride  back  with  her  to  Holwick. 

"It's  a  fine  old  place,  this  home  of  yours,"  he  said, 
as  he  looked  up  at  the  gateway-tower,  with  the  arms 
of  the  Mowbrays  over  the  entrance  archway; — "a 
meet  abode  for  so  fair  a  princess, ' '  he  added  gallantly ; 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  239 

then  helping  her  to  alight  and  bowing  low  over  her 
hand,  like  a  courtier,  with  a  gravity  half  playful,  half 
serious,  he  kissed  it,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away. 

Aline  had  tried  also  to  get  hold  of  Lord  Middleton's 
reeve,  but  was  unsuccessful;  her  plans,  however,  were 
favoured  next  day  by  the  representative  of  the  Duke 
of  Alston  arriving  an  hour  too  soon. 

Mistress  Mowbray  was  busy  in  preparations  and,  little 
knowing  what  she  was  doing,  caught  sight  of  Aline  and 
called, — "Hither,  wench,  come  you  and  take  Master  La- 
tour  into  the  pleasaunce  and  entertain  him  as  ye  may." 

Ralph  Latour  was  a  tall  stern  man  and  Aline 's  first 
thought  was  that  she  would  fail,  but  she  soon  found  that, 
though  hard  and  in  a  measure  unsympathetic,  he  had  a 
strict  and  judicial  mind,  and  was  quite  ready  to  accept 
her  standpoint,  although  entirely  without  warmth  or 
show  of  feeling. 

The  child,  however,  fascinated  him  also,  like  the  rest. 
Yet  it  was  in  a  somewhat  different  way  from  her  hold 
on  other  people.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  learn- 
ing and  taste,  who  had  travelled  widely,  and  in  his 
cold  critical  way  was  absorbed  in  the  subtlety  of  her 
beauty.  Aline  thought  she  had  never  met  any  one  so 
awe-inspiring  as  he  made  her  walk  in  front  of  him  or 
sat  her  down  opposite  to  him,  in  order  that  he  might 
look  at  her. 

They  discussed  the  subject  thoroughly  and  he  4con- 
cluded  by  saying, — "Mistress  Gillespie, — you  are  Mis- 
tress Gillespie,  I  understand?" 

"Mistress  Aline,"  she  corrected. 

"I  am  told  that  you  have  neither  brothers  nor  uncles 
and  that  the  line  ends  in  you,  does  it  not  ? ' ' 


240  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"True,"  she  said. 

"Mistress  Gillespie,  then,  I  repeat,  you  have  shown 
considerable  acumen  and  you  may  take  it  that  there  is 
a  coincidence  of  view  between  us.  Yes,"  he  added,  ab- 
sent-mindedly speaking  aloud,  as  he  looked  at  her  little 
foot,  "the  external  malleolus  has  exactly  the  right  em- 
phasis, neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  and  I  observe  the 
same  at  the  wrist  in  the  styloid  process  of  the  ulna.  I 
crave  pardon,"  he  added  hastily,  "it  is  time  that  we 
joined  the  others." 

They  found  that  Master  Bowman,  Lord  Middleton's 
reeve,  had  just  arrived  with  his  lady,  and  the  company 
proceeded  to  the  hall. 

Aline  had  thought  best  not  to  mention  the  matter  to 
Cousin  Richard,  as  he  might  discuss  it  with  his  wife 
and  her  plans  be  frustrated.  She  felt  sure,  however, 
that  he  would  take  her  part  if  any  were  on  her  side  at 
all. 

"These  be  troublesome  days,  madam,"  said  David 
Bowman,  addressing  Mistress  Mowbray.  "It  looks  as 
though  all  authority  were  to  go  by  the  board  and  every 
man  go  his  own  way.  Mother  Church  is  like  to  have 
her  house  overturned  by  these  pestilent  heretics." 

"Ay,  and  a  man  will  not  be  master  in  his  own  house 
soon  either,  methinks,  neighbour,"  said  Richard  Mow- 
bray. 

' '  How  now,  Mistress  Mowbray,  what  think  you  ? ' '  Bow- 
man resumed.  ' '  Shall  we  not  at  least  keep  our  kail  bet- 
ter in  future,  when  we  have  cleared  the  rabbit-warren  ? ' ' 

"What  rabbit-warren?"  said  Audry  innocently. 

"The  rabbit-warren  of  Newbiggin,  child,"  replied 
Bowman;  "only  these  rabbits  are  fonder  of  sheep  and 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  241 

chickens  and  folks'  corn  and  money  than  of  kail,  but 
we'll  have  them  all  stewed  shortly." 

"In  the  pot,  with  the  lid  on,"  chimed  in  Eleanor 
Mowbray,  "and  it  shall  be  hot  broth  too." 

"I  hardly  think  your  broth  would  be  very  tasty," 
observed  Master  Richard. 

"Tasty,"  echoed  his  wife;  "it  would  be  the  tastiest 
dish  served  to  the  Master  of  Holwick  this  many  a  long 
day." 

"Master  Richard's  imagination  is  too  literal,"  said 
Bowman;  "he's  thinking  of  the  old  leather  hide 
of  William  Lonsdale,  and  tough  bony  morsels  like  Jane 
Mallet;  but  we  could  peel  them  and  take  out  the  pips." 

"Your  humour  is  a  trifle  broad,  neighbour,"  remarked 
Master  Gower;  "the  little  ladies  might  appreciate  some- 
thing finer." 

' '  Finer  indeed — what,  and  get  as  thin  as  your  humour, 
Master  Gower,  that  we  must  needs  go  looking  for  it  with 
a  candle.  But  humour  or  no  humour,  what  are  we  to 
do  with  these  knaves?  How  counsel  you,  Mistress  Mow- 
bray?" 

"Turn  them  out  and  burn  their  houses,"  she  an- 
swered, "and  let  them  shift  for  themselves." 

"I  think  we  should  give  them  something  to  help  them 
to  get  elsewhere,"  said  Master  Richard. 

"Ay,  their  corpses  might  be  an  unpleasant  sight,  ly- 
ing round  here,"  dryly  put  in  Ralph  Latour. 

"But  why  turn  them  out  at  all?"  asked  Aline  at  last. 
"  It 's  only  one  or  two  that  have  done  any  harm,  why  be 
so  hard  on  the  others?" 

"Nonsense,  child,  where  there's  a  plague  spot,  the 
whole  body  is  sick,"  cried  Mistress  Mowbray.  "The 


242  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

plague  spot  will  always  spread,  and  they  are  all  involved 
already,  I'll  warrant;  away  with  them  all  I  say.  And 
what  do  you  mean,  child,  advising  your  betters  and 
thrusting  yourself  into  wise  folks'  counsels?" 

"It  liketh  me  to  hear  a  child's  views,  if  the  bairn  be 
not  too  forward,"  said  Latour  gravely.  "There  is  a 
freshness  and  simplicity  about  them  that  we  are  apt  to 
miss  after  our  long  travailing  in  the  world." 

"  'Simplicity,'  indeed,"  rejoined  Mistress  Mowbray, 
' '  simpleton  is  the  kind  of  word  you  want.  In  my  young 
days  we  were  taught  our  place;  'freshness,'  forsooth! 
We  want  no  fresh  raw  wenches  to  open  their  mouths  in 
this  place,  anyway." 

Latour  took  no  notice  of  his  hostess'  rudeness,  but 
turned  to  Aline  saying, — "But  do  you  not  think,  child, 
that  a  severe  example  would  be  a  terror  to  evil-doers  far 
and  wide,  and  Mistress  Mowbray  is  doubtless  right,  they 
will  all  be  infected,  even  if  the  evil  in  every  case  does 
not  show  itself.  All  through  the  world's  story  the  inno- 
cent have  suffered  with  the  guilty;  moreover,  it  will 
quicken  in  them  a  responsibility  for  their  associates. 
Besides,  if,  as  Master  Mowbray  suggests,  we  help  them 
on  their  way  there  will  be  no  hardship  done,  it  is  only 
a  change  of  abode.  Come  now,  Aline,  is  that  not  so?" 

Mistress  Mowbray  watched  exultantly.  She  was  not 
sure  that  these  calm  measured  phrases  were  not  more 
crushing  than  her  own  invective.  "Now,  child,  you  see 
how  little  you  understand  things, ' '  she  observed  patron- 
isingly. 

Master  Latour,  however,  was  not  acting  as  a  partisan ; 
he  was  merely  putting  the  case,  partly  to  show  all  sides 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  243 

and  partly  because  it  interested  him  to  test  Aline 's 
powers. 

"Master  Latour  is  a  just  man,"  said  Aline  with  some 
hesitation,  "and  I  think  he  will  understand  when  I  say 
that  I  really  know  that  these  people  are  not  all  bad, — 
that  the  disease,  as  you  call  it,  has  not  spread  so  far  but 
that  it  may  be  checked."  She  paused  for  a  moment 
from  nervousness,  and  looked  a  little  confused. 

"Take  your  time; — festina  lente,* — develop  your  ar- 
gument at  your  convenience, ' '  said  Latour  not  unkindly. 

' '  With  regard  then  to  the  question  of  example, ' '  Aline 
went  on,  recovering  herself  and  catching  something  of 
Latour 's  manner  of  speaking,  "with  regard  to  the  ques- 
tion of  example,  you  all  know  that  this  '  change  of  abode ' 
will  only  stir  up  bitterness  and  that  that  will  spread  ten- 
fold and  may  wreck  us  altogether.  A  punishment  that 
the  others  feel  to  be  just  is  a  lesson ;  a  punishment  that 
is  felt  to  be  unjust  is  a  flame  for  kindling  a  revolution- 
ary fire. 

"You  say  I  am  a  child  and  I  do  not  know;  but, 
please,  I  do  know  more  about  these  people  than 
any  of  you.  I  have  spoken  to  every  one  of  them.  I 
know  them  all;  and  about  some  of  them  I  know  a  great 
deal.  I  do  not  suppose  there  is  any  one  here,  except 
myself,  who  even  knows  their  names,  beyond  those  of 
his  own  tenants.  Marry,  now,  is  that  not  so  ? " 

Aline  having  flung  down  her  challenge  looked  around 
with  flashing  eyes. 

Latour  had  been  watching  her  with  his  cold  aesthetic 
appreciation,  admiring  her  instinctively  beautiful  ges- 

*  Make  haste  slowly. 


244  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

tures,  but  this  time,  he  too  felt  a  real  touch  of  the  child 's 
magic  as  she  glanced  scornfully  round. 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  be  old  enough  to  know  what  is 
the  right  thing  to  do,"  Aline  went  on,  "but  surely, 
surely, ' '  she  said  in  earnest  pleading  tones,  ' '  people  who 
want  to  be  just  should  carefully  find  out  everything  first. 
Is  that  not  so?"  she  asked,  turning  round  quickly  to 
Mistress  Mowbray; — "Do  you  not  think  so  yourself?" 

Eleanor  Mowbray  was  so  astonished  at  the  child  dar- 
ing to  cross-examine  her  like  that,  that  she  was  struck 
dumb  with  astonishment. 

"Yes,  of  course  you  think  so,"  Aline  said,  giving  her 
no  time  to  recover  herself.  "Mistress  Mowbray  entirely 
agrees,"  she  went  on,  "as  every  just  person  would  agree. 
That  is  so,  is  it  not,  Master  Gower?"  Master  Gower 
bowed  assent.  ' '  And  there  is  no  need  to  ask  you,  Cousin 
Eichard." 

"Yes,  dear,  you  are  right,"  he  said. 

Aline  had  swept  swiftly  round  in  the  order  in  which 
she  was  most  sure  of  adherents,  so  as  to  carry  away  the 
rest. 

"Master  Latour,"  she  continued,  "I  am  sure  you  will 
not  disagree  with  them  and  will  say  that  a  proper  exam- 
ination must  be  held  first,  and  that  everything  must  be 
done  that  will  stop  bitterness  and  revolt  while  keeping 
honesty  and  order." 

"That  is  entirely  my  view,"  said  Latour,  captivated 
by  the  child's  skill  and  the  gentle  modesty  which,  in 
spite  of  her  earnestness,  marked  every  tone  and  gesture. 
"Who  would  have  thought,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that 
anything  so  gentle  and  modest  and  yet  so  princess-like 
withal  could  be  in  one  combination  at  the  same  time?" 


A  DIPLOMATIC  VICTORY  245 

Aline  was  least  sure  of  Bowman,  but  while  looking  at 
him  she  concluded ; — ' '  Then  I  take  it  that  you  all  think 
the  same,  Master  Bowman." 

She  had  not  exactly  asked  him  his  own  view,  and  he 
was  sure  that  if  left  to  himself  he  would  have  taken  a 
different  line.  He  was  by  no  means  certain  that  he  was 
not  literally  spell-bound  as  he  answered ; — ' '  Surely,  Mis- 
tress Aline,  we  are  all  of  one  mind,  including  my  wife, 
I  think  I  may  say."  The  lady  smiled  her  complete  ac- 
quiescence. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  Aline  said,  and  slipping  from 
her  seat  she  went  up  to  Master  Richard  and,  in  her  most 
irresistible  way,  put  her  arm  around  him,  saying: — 
"And  you  will  let  me  help  you  to  find  out  things,  won't 
you,  even  though  I  am  only  a  little  girl  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  if  it  is  any  gratification  to  you,  sweet  child," 
he  answered,  kissing  her. 

"That  is  all  settled  then,"  she  said,  "and  when  the 
ladies  retire,  you  can  examine  me  as  the  first  witness." 

' '  A  very  good  idea ;  you  seem  to  know  every  one 's  ten- 
ants," said  Master  Latour,  much  amused  at  Aline 's 
triumph  and  adroitness,  and  determined  that  she  should 
secure  the  fruits  of  her  victory.  As  he  was  the  strong- 
est man  there,  both  in  himself  and  as  representing  the 
largest  and  most  powerful  owner,  the  others  at  once 
concurred.  Part  of  the  secret  of  Aline 's  extraordinary 
power  was  her  entire  selflessness.  In  her  most  queenly 
moods  there  was  never  the  least  suggestion  of  self,  it 
was  the  royalty  of  love.  Aline  might  use  the  very  words 
that  in  other  children's  mouths  would  have  been  con- 
ceited and  opinionated;  yet  from  her  they  were  more 
like  a  passionate  appeal.  This,  associated  with  a  quiet 


246  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

dignity  of  manner,  generally  produced  a  feeling  of 
"noblesse  oblige"  in  the  hearer.  The  basest  men  will 
hesitate  to  use  foul  language  and  discuss  foul  things  be- 
fore a  child.  In  Aline 's  presence  the  same  occurred  in 
an  infinitely  greater  degree.  It  was  for  most  people, 
men  or  women,  impossible  to  be  anything  but  their  best 
selves  before  her;  to  do  anything  less  would  mean  to 
be  utterly  ashamed. 

Aline 's  conquest  was  complete  and  Mistress  Mowbray 
saw  that  she  would  only  expose  herself  to  further  de- 
feat if  she  attempted  now  to  open  the  question  again. 
It  was  made  the  more  galling  as  Aline 's  last  thrust  had 
practically  shut  her  out  of  the  council  altogether.  Why 
did  that  fool  Bowman  bring  his  wife  with  him?  It 
would  be  too  undignified  for  her  to  insist  on  coming  after 
they  had  accepted  Aline 's  proposition,  unless  she  forbade 
Aline  to  be  there;  and  that  Aline  had  made  impossible. 
So  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  accept  the  situation  with 
the  best  grace  that  she  could  and  bide  her  time. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  LOSS 

MISTRESS  MOWBRAY  had  not  long  to  wait. 
The  day  after  the  matter  of  Newbiggin  was 
settled  Father  Laurence  was  crossing  Mid- 
dleton  Bridge,  when  he  met  "Moll  o'  the  graves"  com- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction.  He  instinctively  crossed 
himself  at  her  approach.  She  saw  his  action,  and  stop- 
ping on  the  side  of  the  bridge  in  one  of  the  refuges,  she 
pointed  her  finger  at  him  and  laughed  a  shrill  discordant 
laugh.  ' '  Ha,  ha,  Sir  Priest,  you  think  you  will  triumph 
in  my  despite.  I  dreamed  a  dream  last  night  and  all 
the  devils  in  hell  got  hold  of  thee. ' ' 

"Peace,  woman,  peace,  brawl  not  upon  the  Queen's 
highway. ' ' 

' '  Nay,  it  is  not  peace, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  who  talketh  to  me 
of  peace?" 

"Mary,  you  had  better  go  home,"  said  the  priest 
kindly.  "I  was  glad  to  hear  that  little  Mistress  Aline 
Gillespie  put  in  a  word  for  you  and  your  folk  at  New- 
biggin  yesterday,  so  that  there  is  the  more  reason  for 
your  peaceful  homecoming." 

"Mistress  Aline  Gillespie,"  said  the  old  woman  calm- 
ing down  and  looking  mysteriously  about  her.  "Mis- 
tress Aline  Gillespie,  nay,  she  is  not  on  our  side.  I  see 
the  hosts  gathering  for  battle  and  she  and  thou  are  with 

247 


248  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

the  legions  of  the  lost.  Nay,  Sir  Priest,  mock  me  not 
and  mock  not  the  forces  that  are  over  against  you." 

"Woman,"  said  Father  Laurence,  "you  speak  that 
you  know  not,  the  powers  of  darkness  shall  flee  before 
the  powers  of  light." 

"No,  never,  nothing  groweth  out  of  the  ground  but 
it  withereth,  nothing  is  built  that  doth  not  fall  to  ruin, 
nothing  made  that  doth  not  grow  old  and  perish,  nothing 
born  that  doth  not  die.  Destruction  and  death  alone 
triumph.  Shew  me  one  single  thing  of  all  the  things 
that  I  have  seen  perish  before  my  eyes  and  that  liveth 
again.  No,  you  cannot,  Sir  Priest." 

"The  things  that  are  seen  are  temporal,  the  things 
that  are  unseen  are  eternal,"  he  answered. 

"And  who,  thinkest  thou,  knoweth  the  unseen,  thou 
or  I  ?  I  tell  thee  that  all  alike  shall  pass  save  the  dark- 
ness and  the  void  into  which  all,  both  seen  and  unseen 
shall  be  swallowed  up.  Yes,  in  this  very  valley  where 
we  now  stand,  you  shall  see  iniquity  triumph  and  all 
your  feeble  prayers  be  brought  to  naught.  Avaunt, 
avaunt,  nor  may  I  tarry  here  longer." 

She  brushed  passed  him  as  she  spoke,  and  the  old 
priest  looked  sadly  after  her.  "Poor  thing,"  he  said, 
"she  is  indeed  in  the  hands  of  Satan." 

He  passed  up  the  road  on  the  way  to  Holwick  and,  as 
he  entered  Benjamin's  cottage,  he  met  Aline  coming 
forth.  The  wind  blew  her  hair  out  somewhat  as  she 
stepped  into  the  open,  and  the  sun's  rays  caught  it,  while 
she  herself  was  still  a  little  in  shadow  and  it  shone  like 
a  flaming  fire.  "It  is  a  halo  of  glory,"  said  the  old 
man  to  himself  as  he  looked  into  the  beautiful  innocent 
face.  ' '  Child,  you  did  well  yesterday, ' '  he  said. 


THE  LOSS  249 

"Oh,  but  I  am  afraid,  Father." 

"Afraid  of  what,  my  child?" 

"Afraid  that  Mistress  Mowbray  was  not  pleased." 

"Fear  not,  Mistress  Mowbray  is  an  honest  woman,  she 
will  approve  of  what  thou  hast  said." 

Aline  did  not  like  to  say  more ;  she  wondered  whether 
she  had  misjudged  the  lady  of  Holwick,  or  whether  the 
old  man's  estimate  was  too  charitable. 

"God  bless  you,  Aline,"  he  said,  as  she  turned  to  go 
up  the  hill,  and  before  entering  the  door  he  stood  and 
watched  her  out  of  sight. 

She  went  straight  up  to  the  Hall  and  found  Audry. 
"I  wonder  what  Ian  is  doing  in  Carlisle  now,"  said 
Aline.  "Let  us  go  down  to  the  secret  room.  I  have 
just  met  Sir  Laurence  Mortham.  I  think  he  looked 
sadder  than  ever,  but  he  is  a  right  gentle  master.  Do 
you  remember  that  talk  we  had  with  Ian  about  our  fore- 
bodings? I  thought  that  it  must  have  meant  lan's  de- 
parture, but  it  is  something  more  than  that.  I  felt  it 
again  strangely  to-day  when  I  met  Father  Laurence, 
and  somehow  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  there  was  some 
terrible  conflict  going  on  somewhere,  and  Father  Lau- 
rence was  trying  to  stop  it,  but  that  he  could  not  do  so. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  do  not  talk  like  that,  Aline,  you  do  not  know  how 
creepy  you  make  me  feel.  Come." 

"The  room  looks  very  melancholy  now,"  Audry  said 
when  they  had  descended.  * '  I  always  associate  this  room 
with  Master  Menstrie.  It  seems  very  curious  that  we 
should  discover  him  and  the  room  at  the  same  time. ' ' 

"It  is  very  cold  down  here,"  said  Audry,  "let  us  light 
a  fire.  That  will  do  something  to  make  the  place  more 
cheerful. ' ' 


250  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Are  there  any  fires  lit  upstairs?"  asked  Aline,  point- 
ing to  the  inscription  over  the  fireplace. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Audry,  "several,  it  is  getting  nearly 
winter. ' ' 

So  the  children  lit  a  fire  and  occupied  themselves  in 
giving  the  room  a  thorough  cleaning. 

"I  wish  we  could  open  this  chest,"  Audry  exclaimed, 
as  she  was  dusting  the  great  iron  coffer.  "It  is  very 
strange  that  it  has  no  lock."  Aline  came  and  bent  over 
it  too.  But  although  they  pressed  here  and  pushed 
there  and  peered  everywhere,  they  only  succeeded  in 
getting  their  hair  caught  on  a  rivet,  so  that  both  children 
were  fastened  to  each  other  and  to  the  chest  at  the  same 
time.  So  with  much  laughter  they  abandoned  the  at- 
tempt for  that  day. 

"You  know  it's  my  belief,"  said  Audry,  "that  that 
old  iron  coffer  is  the  most  important  thing  in  this  room ; 
people  don't  put  great  heavy  iron  coffers  into  secret 
rooms  unless  they  have  secrets  inside." 

"But  the  secrets  might  have  been  taken  away,"  said 
Aline,  "although  I  admit  that  it  does  not  look  likely. 
The  room  seems  to  have  been  unused  for  so  very  long. 
But  do  you  remember,  Audry,  we  never  finished  reading 
that  book  after  all.  Why  should  it  not  tell  us  about 
the  chest?" 

' '  I  expect  it  would ;  where  is  the  book  ? ' ' 

"It  is  in  this  room,  I  think,  in  one  of  the  bookcases." 
Aline  rose  to  fetch  it,  but  the  book  was  not  to  be  found. 
The  children  hunted  all  round  the  room,  but  they  could 
not  find  it.  They  then  went  upstairs  to  their  own  room, 
but  still  it  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  They  looked  at 
each  other  aghast. 


THE  LOSS  251 

"Oh,  whatever  shall  we  do?"  said  Aline.  "Suppose 
that  they  find  it,  then  our  secret  room  will  be  no  longer 
safe." 

"But  they  may  not  be  able  to  read  it,"  Audry  sug- 
gested. 

"Oh,  they  are  sure  to  find  out,  for  they  will  have  the 
parchment. ' ' 

"The  parchment,"  echoed  Audry,  "the  parchment; 
then  you  will  not  be  able  to  write  any  more  letters  to 
Master  Menstrie.  Why,  you  must  have  had  it  last  night 
when  you  read  his  letter." 

"So  I  must,"  said  Aline.  "Well,  that  proves  it  can- 
not be  out  of  the  house,  for  I  have  not  been  out  except 
to  see  Walter  Hargrove  go,  and  I  am  certain  I  did  not 
take  it  with  me  then.  So  it  must  be  somewhere  here  in 
our  room." 

They  turned  everything  off  the  bed,  they  looked  in 
the  ambry,  they  lifted  the  movable  plank  and  looked 
under  the  sliding  panel,  but  the  book  had  absolutely  dis- 
appeared. 

"It  is  very  mysterious;  do  you  suppose  any  one  has 
been  in  and  taken  it,  Aline;  it  is  very  small  and  thin, 
it  is  true,  but  it  could  not  actually  vanish. ' ' 

Aline  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  could  not  keep  back 
the  tears.  "There  is  only  one  comfort,"  she  said,  "and 
that  is  that  Master  Menstrie  told  us  how  to  make  an- 
other parchment;  besides  I  read  his  letter  three  times 
over  last  night  and  I  think  I  could  make  a  new  one  from 
that,  for  I  believe  I  could  remember  it.  But,  oh,  dear, 
I  am  certain  some  one  has  taken  the  book  and  it  will  be 
found  out,  and  then  they  will  see  that  the  secret  room 
has  been  used  and  will  guess  that  that  was  how  Master 


252  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Menstrie  escaped  and  that  we  helped  him.  It  may  even 
lead  to  their  finding  out  where  he  is." 

Audry  knelt  down  on  the  floor  and  put  her  head  in 
her  cousin's  lap,  and  her  arms  round  her  waist.  The 
late  Autumn  sunshine  flooded  the  room,  but  it  brought 
no  joy  to  the  sorrowing  children. 

"Who  can  have  been  in  the  room?"  Audry  said  at  last. 

"Elspeth,  I  suppose,"  said  Aline.  "I  think  we  must 
run  the  risk  of  asking  her.  She  cannot  read,  but  even 
if  she  has  not  seen  it,  she  might  tell  some  one  that  we  had 
lost  it.  However,  we  must  take  our  chance. ' ' 

So  they  went  and  found  Elspeth  and  began  to  talk  to 
her  about  the  packman's  visit.  Just  as  they  were  going 
Audry  managed  to  say  quite  casually,  ' '  Oh,  by  the  way, 
Aline,  I  suppose  Elspeth  cannot  have  seen  your  little 
book." 

"What  book,  hinnie?"  said  the  old  dame.  "I  cannot 
read  and  all  books  are  alike  to  me." 

"Oh,  it  was  a  very  thin  little  book;  I  must  have  mis- 
laid it  in  our  room.  You  may  possibly  have  noticed  it 
lying  round  somewhere  if  you  have  been  in  there  this 
morning. ' ' 

"I  have  seen  no  such  book,  dearie,  and  I  would  not 
have  touched  it  if  I  had." 


CHAPTER  XX 

PERSECUTION 

THE  children  went  about  with  terror  in  their 
hearts    expecting    every    moment    that    they 
would  be  discovered.     On  coming  in  to  dinner 
they  fancied  that  Mistress  Mowbray  looked  at  them  with 
unusual  severity,  but  she  said  nothing,  yet  perhaps  it 
was  only  because  Master  Eustace  Cleveland  of  Lunedale 
was  there. 

The  guest  looked  at  Audry,  who  came  in  first.  "Is 
that  your  daughter?"  he  said  to  Richard  Mowbray. 
"By  my  troth,  sir,  but  you  have  cause  to  be  proud  of 
her." 

Master  Mowbray  presented  the  child  and  she  louted  * 
low  and  went  to  her  place.  Meanwhile,  Mistress  Mow- 
bray had  signed  to  Aline  to  be  seated.  When  Master 
Cleveland  looked  across  again  he  saw  Aline  and  started 
visibly.  He  did  not  as  a  rule  take  the  least  interest  in 
children,  but  this  was  a  revelation.  "I  did  not  know 
that  you  had  two  daughters, ' '  he  said,  and  was  going  to 
say  something  further,  when  Mistress  Mowbray,  who 
had  noticed  his  pleased  surprise,  cut  him  short  by  say- 
ing: "She  is  Master  Mowbray's  cousin,  a  Gillespie, 
her  great  grandmother  married  one  of  those  Scots;  the 
family  of  course  came  to  grief  and  Richard  seems  to 
think  it  is  his  business  to  see  after  her.  But  you  would 

*  The  "lout"   was  the  predecessor   of  the  curtsey. 

253 


254  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

not  believe  the  trouble  she  is,  to  look  at  her.  It's  amaz- 
ing how  sly  and  dishonest  some  girls  can  be.  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you  later,  Aline,  about  what  I  found 
in  your  room  this  morning." 

Aline  shook  and  looked  terrified,  to  Mistress  Mow- 
bray's  joy,  who  was  delighted  at  confusing  her  before 
the  stranger. 

Master  Cleveland  felt  his  heart  fill  with  enmity  to- 
ward Mistress  Mowbray.  "I  am  sure  that  woman  is  a 
liar,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  could  hardly  take  his 
eyes  off  Aline  all  through  the  meal,  except  for  an  occa- 
sional glance  at  Audry,  who  also  fascinated  him  not  a 
little. 

''Well,  I  shall  never  think  children  uninteresting 
again,"  he  thought,  "if  ever  they  can  look  like  that. 
'Sdeath,  I  should  like  to  see  those  two  when  they  grow 
up,  they  will  be  fine  women.  That  Gillespie  girl  is  quite 
uncanny, — simply  to  look  at  her  makes  one  feel  a  low 
born  brute.  Widow  Pelham  shall  have  a  new  cottage, 
by  my  halidame  she  shall;  and  Jock  Mostyn  shall  have 
a  pension.  God  in  heaven,  what  a  face,  and  what  hands ! 
I  did  not  know  there  were  such  hands." 

After  dinner  Mistress  Mowbray  went  with  her  guest 
and  Master  Richard  through  the  Hall  and  the  gardens, 
and  the  children  escaped. 

Cleveland  saw  Aline  again  for  a  moment.  He  was 
coming  back  from  the  garden  and  she  nearly  ran  into 
him.  "I  cry  you  mercy,  Master,"  she  said. 

"Then  give  me  some  Michaelmas  daisies  as  a  token 
of  repentance,"  he  said  laughing. 

There  was  a  magnificent  show  of  huge  blooms  along 
one  of  the  quaint  old  paths,  so  she  ran  and  gathered 


PERSECUTION  255 

them  and  held  them  out.  He  took  them  from  her  hand 
with  a  ceremonious  bow  and  put  them  in  his  bonnet. 
"My  favour!"  he  said,  "it  is  a  pity  there  is  no  tourney, 
little  lady.  Mother  of  God,"  he  added  to  himself,  "it's 
time  I  turned  over  a  new  leaf." 

At  supper  Mistress  Mowbray  said  nothing  to  Aline, 
because  her  husband  was  present.  He  for  his  part  saw 
that  the  child  was  looking  unhappy,  but  had  forgotten 
the  remark  at  dinner,  as  Mistress  Mowbray  was  always 
saying  sharp  things;  so  he  tried  to  enliven  her. 

"Thou  hast  never  read  to  me  again,  little  one,  to- 
morrow thou  must  read  something  from  one  of  those 
old  books  that  thou  hast  found  in  the  library. ' ' 

Aline  trembled;  then  Cousin  Richard  knew  too,  she 
thought.  What  should  she  do  with  herself? 

"Methinks  I  would  as  lief  have  some  more  Malory," 
he  went  on,  ' '  and  Audry  would  like  that  too,  or  mayhap 
ye  would  like  to  ride  over  to  Stanhope  with  me,  what 
think  ye,  the  two  of  you?" 

Aline  breathed  again.  Then  perhaps  he  did  not  know 
after  all.  "I  would  fain  go  to  Stanhope,"  she  said. 

"So  would  I,"  said  Audry,  as  both  the  children  saw 
that  it  might  put  off  the  evil  day  with  Mistress  Mowbray. 
"It  will  be  our  last  chance  of  a  good  ride  before  the 
winter,  it  may  come  any  time  now." 

The  next  morning  therefore,  the  three  rode  over  the 
moors  to  Stanhope.  It  was  a  glorious  day  and  Aline 
for  a  time  forgot  her  troubles. 

The  day  following  they  had  to  go  in  to  Middleton 
Market,  so  it  was  not  till  after  rere-supper  that  Eleanor 
Mowbray  took  Aline  apart  and  said, — "Come  with  me, 
I  want  to  speak  with  you." 


256  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Aline 's  heart  sank. 

"I  want  to  know,"  Mistress  Mowbray  began,  "what 
you  mean  by  taking  such  liberties  in  my  house  ?  I  have 
told  you  what  you  may  have  and  what  you  may  not  have, 
and  you  dare  to  take  things  to  which  you  have  no  right. ' ' 

Aline  hung  her  head. 

"You  may  well  look  ashamed,  you  young  hussie,  but 
I  tell  you  there  is  going  to  be  an  end  to  this  kind  of 
thing.  I  cannot  think  why  Master  Mowbray  interfered 
with  my  arrangements  about  the  library,  when  I  had 
forbidden  you  to  go  in,  but  he  will  not  interfere  this 
time  I'll  warrant  you. 

' '  I  went  up  into  your  room  yesterday  and  found  there 
a  length  of  fine  new  linen.  What  business  have  you  to 
be  buying  fine  linen  withal,  when  I  say  that  any  coarse 
dowlas  is  good  enough  for  you?  "When  you  are  in  this 
house  you  will  crave  my  leave  before  you  do  such  things ; 
you  will  do  as  I  say  and  dress  as  I  say  or,  certes,  I  will 
know  wherefore." 

Aline  felt  relieved.  After  all  it  was  only  the  linen 
and  Mistress  Mowbray  even  thought  she  had  bought 
it;  but  the  angry  dame  went  on; — "The  more  I  see  of 
you  the  more  I  mislike  your  conduct  and  I  do  not  care 
for  such  baggage  to  associate  with  my  daughter.  It 
would  be  my  will  to  turn  you  from  the  house,  but  Mas- 
ter Mowbray  sheweth  a  foolish  kindness  toward  you, 
so  I  have  compacted  with  my  sister  Anne  that  Audry 
shall  go  over  to  Appleby  right  speedily  and  pay  her  a 
long  visit.  She  hath  ever  wanted  to  have  the  child  there 
and  it  will  be  an  opportunity  for  Audry  to  come  to  know 
her  respectable  cousins,  and  meanwhile  I  can  keep  you 
under  my  eye." 


PERSECUTION  257 

Poor  little  Aline.  At  the  moment  this  seemed  more 
terrible  even  than  anything  that  could  have  happened 
if  the  book  had  been  discovered. 

"Moreover,"  said  Mistress  Mowbray,  "you  are  get- 
ting too  much  of  the  fine  lady  altogether,  you  seem  to 
forget  that  you  are  not  a  member  of  this  family  and 
that  your  position  should  in  sooth  be  that  of  a  menial." 

Eleanor  Mowbray  calculated  that,  with  Audry  out  of 
the  way,  it  would  be  more  possible  for  her  to  wreak  her 
spite  on  the  child  without  it  being  known.  Why  should 
this  pauper  dependent,  this  mere  skelpie,  dare  to  thwart 
her  will?  Master  Gower  and  Master  Latour  indeed! 
should  she  not  be  mistress  in  her  own  house?  And  by 
way  of  further  justification,  was  not  Aline  depriving 
Audry  of  her  birthright,  since,  attracted  as  all  undoubt- 
edly were  by  Audry,  they  were  attracted  by  Aline  still 
more? 

She  then  sent  for  Audry  and  Aline  escaped  to  her 
room  and  flung  herself  on  her  bed.  She  was  too  heart- 
broken even  to  cry  and  could  only  moan  piteously, — 
"Oh,  Father  dear,  why  did  you  go  away  and  leave  your 
little  girl  all  alone  in  the  world?"  She  then  took  out 
the  miniatures  of  her  father  and  mother  and  gazed  at 
them.  "Mother  dear,  when  Father  was  alive,  your  lit- 
tle motherless  girl  could  be  happy;  but  now  it  is  so 
very  hard;  but  she  will  try  to  be  brave."  She  then 
knelt  down  and  prayed,  and  after  that  the  unnatural  ten- 
sion passed  and  the  tears  flowed  freely,  so  that  when 
Audry  came  up  to  their  room  she  was  calmer. 

"I  call  it  a  downright  shame,"  said  Audry.  "If  I 
am  to  go  to  Aunt  Anne,  why  should  not  you  come  too? 
Aline,  dear,  I  cannot  bear  to  go  away  without  you.  I 


258  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

think  I  love  you  more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world. 
Of  course  I  shall  have  my  cousins,  but,  oh !  I  shall  miss 
you ;  and  you  will  be  so  lonely. ' ' 

"Yes,  but  grieve  not,  Audry,  darling,  you  will  come 
back  again,  and  in  sooth  you  should  have  a  good  time 
and  Master  Mowbray  anyway  will  be  kind  to  me  and  so 
will  Elspeth." 

"But  that  is  not  the  same  thing  at  all;  there  will  be 
no  one  even  to  brush  your  hair,  so  this  will  be  almost 
the  last  time." 

The  children  were  by  now  half  undressed  and  Audry 
with  the  assistance  of  the  new  comb  went  through  the 
somewhat  lengthy  process  of  brushing  and  combing  the 
wonderful  hair  that  reached  nearly  to  Aline 's  knees. 

When  Aline  had  done  the  same  to  her,  they  put  on 
their  bed-gowns  and  Audry  said,  "You  must  sleep  with 
me  to-night."  So  Aline  got  into  her  bed  and  although 
they  both  cried  a  little,  they  were  soon  asleep  locked 
in  each  other's  arms.  The  moon  peeped  in  and  lit  up 
the  picture  with  a  streak  of  light,  which  fell  where  one 
of  Aline 's  beautiful  hands  with  its  delicate  fingers  and 
perfect  skin  lay  out  on  the  coverlet.  No  one  but  the 
moon  saw  the  picture,  but  she  perhaps  understood  neither 
its  beauty  nor  its  pathos. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TORTURE 

THE  few  days  before  Audry's  departure  ran 
swiftly  by  and  Aline  found  herself  alone. 
Mistress  Mowbray  was  determined  to  make  the 
most  of  her  opportunity  and  devised  all  manner  of  new 
tasks  "to  curb  her  proud  spirit,"  as  she  phrased  it. 
What  did  this  child  mean  by  coming  to  disturb  their 
household,  and  why  should  she  be  so  beautiful,  a 
wretched  pauper  Scot?  Of  course  she  must  think  her- 
self better  than  other  people !  "I  have  no  doubt, ' '  said 
Mistress  Mowbray  to  herself,  "that  the  minx  spends 
half  her  time  when  she  gets  the  chance,  looking  at  her 
reflection  in  the  mirror.  Yes,  she's  pretty,  no  doubt, 
with  her  saintly  hypocritical  face,  the  Devil  is  hand- 
some, they  say;  and  I  am  sure  she  is  a  bad  one."  It 
was  no  use  for  people  to  argue  with  Mistress  Mowbray 
that  Aline  cared  not  the  least  about  her  looks,  and  in- 
deed, strange  as  it  seemed,  was  apparently  unaware  of 
her  beauty.  Mistress  Mowbray  only  retorted  that  that 
was  all  part  of  her  hypocrisy.  "Why  should  the  child 
have  such  hands?"  she  angrily  asked  herself  one  day, 
just  after  Audry  had  departed,  "as  if  it  wasn't  enough 
that  she  should  have  a  face  fairer  than  any  one  else 
without  having  hands  that  no  one  could  see  without 
comment." 

259 


260  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

So  one  of  Eleanor  Mowbray 's  devices  was  to  set  Aline 
to  clean  down  some  old  furniture  with  lye.  Naturally 
this  greatly  injured  the  skin,  and  as  the  cold  weather 
set  in,  she  contrived  that  the  child  should  always  be 
washing  something,  till  in  a  very  short  time  the  little 
hands  were  chapped  and  cut  and  in  a  shocking  condi- 
tion round  the  nails.  When  they  were  in  this  state  she 
was  set  to  clean  brass  and  iron,  until  it  was  a  continual 
torture,  and  yet  Aline  did  not  complain. 

How  she  longed  for  Audry  when  she  went  lonely  to 
her  bed  at  night.  If  only  there  had  been  some  one  in 
whom  to  confide  it  would  not  have  been  so  terrible ;  but 
day  after  day  it  was  the  same  thing. 

At  last  the  hands  became  so  sore  that  one  morning 
in  handling  a  pitcher,  she  let  it  fall  and  it  was  broken 
to  atoms.  This  was  the  kind  of  opportunity  for  which 
Mistress  Mowbray  had  been  looking,  but  Aline  was  such 
a  careful,  thoughtful  child  that  the  chance  had  been 
long  in  coming.  She  told  Aline  that  her  punishment 
was  that  she  should  be  confined  to  the  house  for  a  fort- 
night and  in  this  way  she  knew  that  she  would  de- 
prive her  of  her  principal  pleasure,  which  was  to  visit 
the  people  in  the  hamlet,  particularly  those  who  were 
sick. 

It  was  no  use,  when  Aline  offered  to  pay  for  the 
pitcher.  Mistress  Mowbray  would  not  hear  of  it.  So 
the  little  girl  would  sit  by  the  window  when  she  was 
not  actually  being  made  to  work  and  watch  the  oncom- 
ing winter,  with  the  first  snow  on  the  high  ground  and 
the  brown  withered  grasses  blown  by  the  wind.  All  the 
purple  of  the  heather  had  long  since  gone  and  the  moor 
looked  sere  and  joyless.  "But,  oh,  for  a  breath  of  the 


TORTURE  261 

fresh  hill-airs."  Aline  gradually  began  to  long  wildly 
and  pine  for  a  run  in  the  open  breeze. 

The  longing  grew  to  an  uncontrollable  desire  and  at 
last  Aline,  the  law-abiding  innocent  child,  could  bear 
the  injustice  no  longer.  After  all,  Mistress  Mowbray 
was  not  her  mother  and  there  was  no  absolute  reason  why 
she  should  obey  her.  Master  Mowbray,  she  knew,  would 
disapprove  of  her  being  kept  in,  and  so  at  length  she 
decided  one  afternoon  to  make  her  way  into  the  open 
along  the  secret  passage. 

No  sooner  thought  than  the  thought  became  a  deed, 
and  she  found  herself  swinging  the  stone  and  letting 
herself  down  into  the  cool  open  fresh  air  of  heaven. 
It  seemed  at  once  to  make  her  better;  she  filled  her 
lungs,  she  laughed  and  stepped  quickly  down  the  stream, 
and  then  broke  into  a  run.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it  after  being 
cooped  up  for  so  long.  It  was  so  delightful  that  she 
was  tempted  to  make  her  way  down  to  the  river  and 
look  at  the  waterfall. 

She  stood  watching  it  and  her  mind  turned  to  what 
she  had  been  doing.  Was  she  right?  After  all  Mis- 
tress Mowbray  was  her  guardian  and  responsible  for 
her,  no  matter  how  cruel  she  might  be.  Aline  was  filled 
with  doubt. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  done  wrong,"  she  said  to  her- 
self ;  ' '  the  world  would  all  go  to  confusion  if  every  irre- 
sponsible person  and  child  behaved  as  it  pleased  to- 
ward those  who  have  the  management  of  things.  Of 
course  they  do  not  always  manage  properly,  and  they 
make  mistakes  and  do  wrong,  and  so  should  I  if  I  were 
in  the  same  place.  But  somebody  has  to  manage  things. 
Oh,  dear,  it  is  very  difficult,  but  I  suppose  until  I  am 


262  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

old  enough  and  wise  enough  to  manage  things  better,  I 
must  submit  to  be  managed  and  be  learning  how  not  to 
do  things  when  my  time  comes.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been 
very  naughty." 

Aline  had  a  developed  power  of  reasoning  far  beyond 
the  average  child  of  her  age  but  a  capacity,  however,  by 
no  means  altogether  uncommon,  particularly  at  her  time 
of  life. 

What  was  her  consternation  on  turning  round  to  see 
Thomas  Carluke  standing  on  the  bank  a  little  lower  down 
and  watching  her. 

He  came  up  and  spoke,  saying, — "It's  a  fine  day,  Mis- 
tress Aline;  we  do  not  often  get  so  good  a  day  so  late 
in  the  year.  You  will  be  enjoying  the  fresh  air.  I 
noticed  you  have  not  been  out  much  lately. ' ' 

Aline  winced,  as  she  was  feeling  a  little  ashamed  of 
herself, — but  she  only  said,  "No,  but  a  day  like  this  is 
irresistible. ' ' 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  are  enjoying  it,"  said  Thomas, 
with  an  evil  look  in  his  eye,  and  turned  back  in  the  di- 
rection of  Holwick. 

Aline  wondered  what  to  do.  She  felt  a  strong  temp- 
tation to  go  back  as  fast  as  possible  by  way  of  the  se- 
cret passage  and  be  in  before  Thomas  could  get  there. 
He  would,  of  course,  be  astonished  at  seeing  her  and 
would  probably  say  something;  she  could  then  draw 
herself  up  stiffly  and  say; — "Thomas,  you  are  dream- 
ing, I  hope  you  have  not  been  taking  too  much  liquor, ' ' 
a  thing  of  which  Thomas  was  notoriously  fond.  "How 
can  you  talk  of  such  obvious  impossibilities."  If  he 
were  inclined  to  persist  she  could  suggest  that  it  was  her 


TORTURE  263 

wraith ;  *  and  that  would  frighten  Thomas  terribly,  as 
they  were  all  very  superstitious. 

But  she  felt  it  would  not  be  right,  however  unjust 
Thomas  and  Mistress  Mowbray  were,  and  however  jus- 
tified she  felt  in  refusing  to  obey  her. 

Meanwhile  Thomas  went  on  gloating  over  his  discov- 
ery, and  he  found  Mistress  Mowbray  at  once. 

She  took  him  into  the  hall  and  bade  him  be  seated. 

So  there  they  sat  for  a  moment  looking  at  each  other, 
the  sly  undersized  man,  with  his  low  ill-developed  fore- 
head, and  the  keen  looking,  cruel,  but  dignified  woman. 
"What  is  it,  Thomas?"  she  said. 

"I  have  but  newly  seen  Mistress  Aline  out  by  the 
High  Force, ' '  he  replied,  ' '  and  I  know  that  you  bade  her 
not  to  go  without  doors." 

"Yes,"  said  Mistress  Mowbray.     "Is  that  all?" 

"That  is  all  about  Mistress  Aline,"  he  answered,  al- 
ways greatly  in  awe  of  the  lady,  "but,  an  it  please  you, 
may  I  have  a  little  of  the  new  meal?"  he  added  with 
sudden  boldness. 

Eleanor  Mowbray  looked  at  him.  This  came  of  listen- 
ing to  servants'  tales.  She  paused  an  instant;  it  was 
very  undignified  to  be  bargaining  with  menials,  but  the 
man  might  be  useful  to  her ;  she  bit  her  lip  and  then  said, 
"Yes,  Thomas,  you  can  have  a  boll." 

Thomas  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  his  delight.  He 
had  obtained  something  that  he  wanted  and  he  had  grati- 
fied his  spite  against  Aline,  whom  he  hated  as  something 
petty  and  mean  and  base  will  often  hate  what  is  lofty 
and  pure  and  noble. 

Mistress  Mowbray  was  glad  that  she  had  now  a  genu- 

*  The  ghost  of  a  living  person. 


264  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

ine  case  against  Aline  and  was  determined  that  she  would 
act  with  exceptional  severity. 

Aline  was  sick  at  heart,  there  was  no  one  in  whom 
she  could  confide  and  she  was  utterly  lonely  and  miser- 
able. She  thought  of  telling  Cousin  Richard,  but  she 
was  rather  afraid  even  of  him;  and  then  too,  although 
Mistress  Mowbray  was  unjust,  she  felt  that  she  had  no 
right  to  take  the  law  into  her  own  hands. 

She  lay  on  her  bed  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief, — "Oh,  I 
wish  and  I  wish  that  I  had  not  done  it,"  she  exclaimed 
again  and  again,  and  it  was  long  before  she  felt  equal 
to  facing  Mistress  Mowbray  once  more. 

When  she  came  down  to  rere-supper,  Mistress  Mow- 
bray was  waiting.  Master  Richard  had  not  arrived. 
"What  do  you  mean,  you  dishonest  child,  by  going 
out  ?  I  hate  a  child  I  cannot  trust, ' '  she  said  in  freezing 
tones. 

"I  have  not  been  dishonourable,  Mistress  Mowbray. 
I  never  said  that  I  would  not  go  out.  I  was  disobedient 
and  I  am  sorry,  but  if  Father  was  alive,  he  would  not 
have  liked  me  to  be  kept  in  doors;  and  I  do  not  think 
Cousin  Richard  would  approve,"  she  added  with  some 
boldness,  as  she  knew  it  was  really  unjust  and  had 
no  one  to  defend  her. 

At  that  moment  Master  Mowbray  entered.  "What  is 
this,  about  'Cousin  Richard'?"  he  exclaimed. 

Aline  was  silent  and  Mistress  Mowbray  looked  con- 
fused. After  a  pause,  as  he  was  obviously  waiting  for 
an  explanation,  Aline  said, — "An  it  please  you,  Cousin 
Richard,  Mistress  Mowbray  and  I  do  not  agree,  that  is 
all,  it  is  nothing." 

"I  insist  on  knowing,"  said  Master  Mowbray, 


TORTURE  265 

"I  forbade  Aline  to  go  out,"  said  his  wife,  "and  she 
not  only  flatly  disobeyed  me,  but  she  questioneth  my  au- 
thority." 

"Is  that  so,  Aline?"  he  asked,  looking  very  surprised. 

"Yes,  cousin,  I  did  disobey  and  I  am  sorry."  Aline 
knew,  if  she  said  more  that  he  would  take  her  side,  and 
although  she  could  not  pretend  that  she  had  any  great 
love  for  Mistress  Mowbray,  yet  she  did  not  want  to  get 
her  into  trouble  with  her  husband. 

Richard  Mowbray  was  silent  for  some  time  and  then 
he  said,  "You  have  not  explained  everything."  He 
glanced  at  the  sad  little  face  opposite  to  him  and  no- 
ticed that  it  was  looking  thinner  and  a  little  drawn ;  the 
child  was  not  only  unhappy,  but  unwell.  Surely,  he 
thought,  she  has  something  more  to  say  on  her  side.  His 
wife  looked  triumphant. 

"You  have  not  explained  everything,"  he  repeated, 
"have  you,  little  one?"  he  added  tenderly. 

It  was  said  so  kindly  that  it  was  almost  more  than 
Aline  could  bear,  but  she  managed  to  say,  "That  is  all 
that  I  want  to  say,  Cousin  Richard. ' ' 

Richard  Mowbray  saw  pretty  well  how  the  land  really 
lay  and  said  somewhat  sternly  to  his  wife,  "Eleanor,  I 
heard  my  name  mentioned  as  I  came  in,  I  should  like 
to  know  why  it  was  used." 

Mistress  Mowbray  had  thought  her  triumph  complete 
and  was  so  taken  aback  that  there  was  not  time  to  think 
of  anything  to  say,  so  she  could  only  blurt  out  the 
truth. 

Richard  Mowbray  stood  up,  as  his  manner  was  when 
roused,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  hall  with  a  heavy 
measured  tread;  he  was  a  huge,  powerful  man,  and  al- 


266  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

though  kind  hearted,  was  very  strict  and  most  people, 
including  his  wife,  were  afraid  of  him. 

"The  child  is  right,"  he  said,  "I  do  not  approve. 
I  cannot  think  what  is  the  matter  with  you  and  why 
you  do  not  treat  her  more  justly.  Aline,"  he  said,  "I 
do  not  think  you  ought  to  have  gone  out  without  my  per- 
mission, but  you  can  go  out  when  you  like.  In  future, 
however,  always  ask  me  before  you  disobey  Mistress 
Mowbray. ' ' 

"Yes,  Cousin  Richard,"  said  Aline,  "it  was  wrong 
of  me." 

Mistress  Mowbray  breathed  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 
Richard  Mowbray 's  last  few  words  undid  all  that  he  had 
done  before.  She  knew  that  Aline  was  far  too  proud 
ever  to  appeal  to  her  husband  and,  in  a  qualified  way, 
he  had  even  supported  her  authority. 

So  things  grew  worse  for  Aline  instead  of  better. 
Mistress  Mowbray  had  even  descended  to  telling  Thomas 
to  keep  an  eye  on  the  child  and  he  followed  her  about 
whenever  he  could,  and  made  her  life  hateful. 

She  was  occasionally  able  to  get  up  to  her  room  and 
down  the  secret  passage  into  the  open,  away  from 
Thomas,  but  gradually  even  this  grew  dangerous,  as 
Mistress  Mowbray  would  keep  her  at  work  all  the  time, 
and,  if  she  slipped  away  upstairs,  would  send  some  one 
after  her  to  fetch  her  down.  Twice  the  messenger  had 
gone  up  very  soon  after  Aline  and  had  found  the  room 
empty;  and  Aline 's  explanation  that  she  had  gone  out 
of  doors  was  received  with  incredulity.  Aline  was  also 
frightened  of  meeting  old  Moll  at  the  other  end  and  al- 
ways peered  round  nervously  as  she  emerged  from  the 
cave-room. 


TORTURE  267 

If  they  should  follow  her  closely  and  suspect  the  se- 
cret passage  then  she  would  lose  her  one  retreat  which 
somehow  she  felt  might  be  of  help  in  an  emergency. 
The  secret  room  too  was  her  one  solace,  the  only  thing 
of  interest  left  to  her. 

Although  she  knew  she  was  watched,  she  did  not  know 
to  what  extent  and  would  carry  her  Greek  Testament 
about  with  her  and  pull  it  out  and  read  it  when  she 
had  an  opportunity.  After  all,  neither  Mistress  Mow- 
bray  nor  Thomas  could  read,  so  she  did  not  think  there 
was  much  danger. 

Thomas,  however,  had  noticed  her  take  the  book  out 
of  her  dress  and  had  observed  its  silver  clasps. 

His  own  intelligence  would  probably  not  have  been 
sufficient  to  enable  him  to  hurt  the  child,  but  he  was 
a  friend  of  the  priest  who  served  the  chantry  in  Hoi- 
wick.  He  was  a  low  born  fellow  given  to  loose  living 
and  very  fond  of  liquor,  which  Thomas  would  occa- 
sionally manage  to  steal  for  him  from  the  Hall.  He 
was  one  of  the  very  few  who  did  not  like  Aline.  He 
felt  her  purity  and  charm  was  a  reproach  to  him,  and 
once,  when  she  had  met  him  in  a  condition  somewhat 
the  worse  for  drink,  she  had  very  gently  spoken  to  him 
in  a  reproving  tone,  though  she  did  not  actually  presume 
to  reprove  him.  But  he  never  forgot  it.  He  liked  en- 
joining heavy  penances  for  the  gentle  sweet-natured 
child ;  while  Aline,  for  her  part,  tended  to  avoid  the  con- 
fessional, when  she  could,  not  for  the  penances,  but  be- 
cause she  disliked  the  man  and  felt  little  or  no  spiritual 
value  from  communication  with  him. 

He  had  once  or  twice  had  slight  suspicions  about  her 
orthodoxy,  although  he  had  paid  no  attention  to  it;  but 


268  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

one  day,  when  he  and  Thomas  were  talking  over  a  meas- 
ure of  stolen  ale,  the  conversation  turned  upon  Aline. 

"I  hate  her  pious  face,"  he  said. 

"So  do  I,"  assented  Thomas.  "It  was  a  pity  that 
Andrew  did  not  finish  his  job." 

' '  These  wretched  folk  think  more  of  her  than  they  do 
of  me,"  said  the  priest.  "When  they  are  sick,  it  is  al- 
ways little  St.  Aline  they  want  and  not  the  good  Father, 
— 'Little  St.  Aline,'  ha,  ha,  ha!"  he  laughed  viciously. 
"The  devil  take  her." 

"Ay,  that  may  he;  it  angereth  me  to  see  them  bless- 
ing her  and  carrying  on  as  they  do ;  what  right  has  she 
to  act  so  grandly  with  her  herbs  and  comforts  from  the 
Hall  and  her  good  talk?  Who  is  she,  I  should  like  to 
know?  Mistress  Mowbray  saith  she  is  but  a  depend- 
ent." 

"Good  talk,  indeed,"  said  the  priest.  "It's  just 
blasphemy.  What  is  she  to  be  talking  about, — a  girl 
too, — a  wretched  female." 

"Yes,  a  lot  of  evil  bringers  all  of  them,  eh,  Father, 
from  Mother  Eve  onwards?"  and  Thomas'  wicked  face 
gave  an  ugly  leer.  "Ah,  they  are  a  deceitful  lot,  and 
there  she  is  breaking  Mistress  Mowbray 's  crockery  and 
running  out  when  she  is  forbidden  and  you  will  see  her 
sitting  with  her  book  as  if  she  did  not  know  what  wrong 
was. ' ' 

"What  book?"  said  the  priest.     "Can  she  read?" 

"A  fine  confessor  you  must  be,"  said  Thomas,  "if 
you  have  not  found  out  that  the  skelpie  can  read.  They 
say  she  can  read  like  the  Lady  Jane  Grey. ' ' 

"The  Lady  Jane  Grey,  a  pestilent  heretic!  Mother 
Church  is  well  quit  of  her;  a  pestilent  heretic,  I  say! 


TORTURE  269 

Ay,  and  Mother  Church  would  be  well  quit  of  this  brat 
with  her  sanctimonious  ways." 

"I  should  not  wonder  if  she  be  a  heretic,  too,"  said 
Thomas.  "What  will  Mother  Church  give  me,  if  I  catch 
her  a  heretic  ? "  he  asked  greedily. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  say,"  said  the  priest,  "but  I  think  I 
could  do  the  catching  myself;  but  it  is  not  in  the  least 
likely  that  she  is  a  heretic.  Where  could  she  come  by 
it?" 

"You  catch  her  forsooth!  The  skelpie  is  no  fool, 
and  she  won't  blab  to  the  priest,  but  she  might  tell  her 
tales  to  me.  Indeed  even  if  she  is  not  a  heretic,  why 
not  make  her  one  and  get  rid  of  her  ? ' ' 

The  priest  rubbed  his  hands  and  the  two  heads  bent 
close  together. 

Thomas  agreed  to  swear  that  he  had  heard  Aline  say 
all  manner  of  heretical  things  and  this,  with  the  testi- 
mony of  Father  Ambrose  himself,  they  reckoned  would 
be  sufficient. 

They  were  nearer  the  truth  than  they  knew,  but  truth 
or  no  truth  that  did  not  trouble  them. 

Father  Ambrose  walked  down  to  Middleton  to  discuss 
it  with  his  superior,  Sir  Laurence  Mortham,*  but  al- 
though he  painted  the  heretic  and  her  villainy  in  glow- 
ing colours  and  added  that  he  was  quite  sure  that  she 
was  a  witch  too  and  had  sold  her  soul  to  the  devil  in  ex- 
change for  beauty,  he  met  with  no  response,  even  in  a 
superstitious  and  bigoted  age. 

"I  am  probably  as  zealous  for  Mother  Church  as  you 
are  and  far  more  earnest  against  heresy,"  said  the  old 

*  Those  in  priests'  orders  had  the  title,  "Sir,"  in  the  16th  cen- 
tury. 


270  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

priest,  "but  I  do  not  agree  with  your  point  of  view  or 
approve  of  your  spirit.  Mother  Church  must  be  gen- 
tle and  kindly  and  persuasive.  There  may  now  and  then 
be  a  few  obdurate  cases  where,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
faithful  and  perhaps  for  the  heretic  himself,  a  warn- 
ing example  is  necessary.  It  may,  if  he  be  obdurate,  be 
well  that  he  should  purge  his  sin;  but  it  must  be  but 
rarely  and,  personally,  I  am  doubtful  of  its  efficacy. 
God  will  punish,  and,  as  for  the  example,  it  will  work 
both  ways.  I  will  go  and  see  the  girl  myself,  an  it 
please  you." 

Father  Ambrose  was  afraid  that  this  might  defeat 
his  plans;  so  he  pretended  to  fall  in  with  the  old  man's 
point  of  view  and  said,  "Well,  perhaps,  Father,  you 
are  right  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  take  further  measures 
just  at  present,  so  I  will  not  trouble  you. ' ' 

But  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  others  who  were 
more  ready  to  assist  him,  and  finally  he  got  the  matter 
carried  to  Bishop  Bonner  himself. 

Unhappy  as  Aline  was,  she  was,  of  course,  quite  un- 
conscious of  what  was  in  store  for  her,  although  some- 
thing unusual  in  Thomas'  manner  made  her  suspicious. 
He  was  aggressively  obsequious  and  tried  to  induce  her 
to  talk  to  him,  but  she  would  say  little. 

One  day,  however,  there  arrived  a  tall  priest  with 
instructions  to  make  a  preliminary  enquiry.  Master 
Mowbray  happened  to  be  out,  so  he  was  taken  to  the 
lady  of  Holwick. 

Mistress  Mowbray  opened  her  eyes  in  astonishment 
when  she  heard  that  Aline  was  accused  of  heresy.  "I 
knew  the  jade  was  of  little  worth,"  she  said,  "but  to 
think  of  that!" 


TORTURE  271 

Aline  was  sent  for  and  the  priest  plied  her  with  ques- 
tions. He  was  very  wily  and  spoke  in  a  kindly  way 
and  tried  to  lead  her  on.  It  was  soon  very  clear  that 
she  knew  a  good  deal  about  the  Bible  that  most  people 
did  not  know.  It  was  equally  clear  that,  comparatively 
speaking,  she  attached  little  importance  to  the  dogmas 
and  authority  of  the  church.  But  though  unorthodox 
and  heretically  inclined,  it  was  difficult  to  make  a  case 
against  her  from  anything  she  said. 

The  child  was  so  transparently  honest  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  reconcile  her  position  with  Thomas'  fabri- 
cations. However,  this  was  Father  Martin's  first  case 
and  he  was  naturally  anxious  to  prove  his  zeal  for 
the  cause,  to  his  superiors,  so  he  made  of  it  what  he 
could. 

Not  until  he  had  secured  every  piece  of  evidence 
likely  to  help  him,  did  he  broach  the  subject  of  the 
book,  which  he  thought  was  probably  another  of  Thomas' 
fictions. 

"By  the  way,"  said  he,  "you  have  a  book  that  you 
carry  about  with  you.  Show  it  me." 

Aline  hesitated. 

' '  Shew  it  me  at  once, ' '  he  said  sternly. 

"I  will  make  her  shew  it,"  said  Mistress  Mowbray, 
seizing  the  child  roughly. 

"You  can  let  her  alone,  madam,"  said  the  priest. 
"Child,  hand  me  the  book." 

Aline  drew  it  forth  and  he  looked  at  it.  He  could 
not  read  a  word  of  Greek,  and  at  first  looked  visibly 
chagrined ;  but  he  turned  to  the  title-page,  which  was  in 
Latin. 

"Can  you  read  this?"  he  said.    Aline  bowed  assent. 


272  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"It  is  a  most  pernicious  book.  How  much  have  you 
read?" 

"All  the  first  part  and  most  of  the  rest." 

He  wished  it  had  been  an  English  translation,  as  his 
case  would  have  been  easier.  "Have  you  an  English 
translation?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Aline,  and  he  could  see  that  she  spoke 
the  truth. 

"Who  gave  it  you,  or  how  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked 
next. 

Aline  was  silent. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "did  you  find  it,  or  was  it  given 
you?" 

Aline  still  held  her  peace. 

"I  must  know  this,"  he  said  impatiently,  but  Aline 
vouchsafed  no  reply. 

' '  I  cannot  wait  for  you, ' '  he  went  on,  his  voice  rising. 
"Answer  my  question  this  instant." 

"I  cannot  do  it,"  she  said. 

' '  By  the  authority  of  Mother  Church,  I  command  you 
to  speak,"  he  cried  angrily. 

Aline  looked  up  at  him  fearlessly,  as  she  sat  there 
opposite  to  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  long  narrow 
table,  her  beautiful  arms  stretched  over  toward  him  and 
the  delicate  fingers  moving  nervously.  The  great  masses 
of  rich  glowing  hair  flowed  in  waves  over  the  board, 
and  the  perfect  oval  face  with  the  chin  slightly  lifted 
showed  the  exquisite  ivory  skin  of  her  throat,  subtly 
changing  into  the  more  pearly  tones  of  her  face.  The 
sensitive  lovely  lips  with  their  clear  cut  form,  trembled 
a  little,  but  she  said  bravely, — "It  would  not  be  right, 
Father  Martin.  I  am  ready  to  suffer  for  anything  I 


TORTURE  273 

have  done  myself,  but  I  cannot  reveal  what  is  not  my 
secret. ' ' 

Father  Martin  looked  at  her.  "Mother  of  God  and 
St.  Anthony!"  he  exclaimed.  He  had  never  seen  any- 
thing so  beautiful  as  the  sight  before  him  in  the  fine 
old  hall  and  he  feared  he  might  relent.  He  cast  his 
eyes  down,  he  would  not  look  at  her.  Indeed  she  was 
a  witch,  a  witch  and  yet  so  young!  "Do  you  dare  to 
deny  the  authority  of  Mother  Church?"  he  hissed. 
"You  are  a  heretic  and  guilty  of  contumacy.  You  blas- 
pheme." Then  turning  to  Mistress  Mowbray  he  con- 
tinued, "See  that  she  is  confined  to  her  room  and  fed 
on  bread  and  water  till  she  comes  to  her  senses.  Fail- 
ing that,  the  rack ! ' ' 

He  rose  to  his  full  height  and  gave  her  one  con- 
temptuous glance,  curling  his  thin  lips  and  drawing 
down  his  brows,  while  the  nostrils  of  his  aquiline  nose 
were  lifted  in  scorn.  "Good  day  to  you,  Mistress  Mow- 
bray,"  he  said,  "see  to  my  instructions,"  and  he  de- 
parted. 

Aline  went  up  to  her  room  as  bidden.  Eleanor  Mow- 
bray  followed.  She  did  not  lock  the  door,  as,  in  her 
heart  of  hearts,  even  she  trusted  Aline  as  she  would 
trust  the  laws  of  nature,  much  as  she  hated  her.  Aline 
might  disobey,  but  she  would  never  break  her  word. 
' '  Do  not  pass  through  that  door  again,  until  you  are  told. 
Promise  me." 

"I  would  rather  you  locked  it,"  said  Aline.  "The 
house  might  catch  fire  and  I  could  not  stay  and  be 
burned,  even  to  obey  you." 

"Little  fool,"  said  Mistress  Mowbray,  "if  the  door 
were  locked  you  would  be  burned  anyhow." 


274  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"That  would  be  your  doing,  though.  I  should  not 
have  to  do  it  myself.  I  want  to  keep  my  own  liberty  of 
action. ' ' 

Mistress  Mowbray  slammed  the  door  and  went  down- 
stairs. But  she  did  not  lock  it. 

Aline  was  merely  thinking  in  a  vague  general  way 
that  it  would  be  risky  to  make  any  such  promise  and 
did  not  realise  how  nearly  her  words  might  have  applied 
to  the  actual  facts. 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  dazed.  Surely 
she  had  been  singled  out  for  misfortune;  blow  after 
blow  had  fallen  upon  her,  and  she  was  only  twelve  and 
a  half  years  old.  First  she  had  been  left  motherless, 
then  her  father's  small  estate  had  been  ruined.  Next 
she  was  made  an  orphan.  Then  she  had  lost  her  only 
friends  Ian  and  Audry  and  was  left  to  the  cruelties  of 
Mistress  Mowbray.  And  now  there  was  this.  The  lit- 
tle heart  almost  grew  bitter  and  she  was  tempted  to  say ; 
— "I  do  not  mind  if  they  do  kill  me,  everything  is  so 
terrible  and  sad  and,  O  Father  dear,  your  little  girl  is 
so  very  very  lonely  and  unhappy  she  would  like  to  die 
and  come  to  you." 

But  the  thought  of  her  father  made  her  think  of  life 
again  and  some  of  life's  happy  days  and  of  Audry  and 
Ian,  and  she  gave  a  great  sob  and  a  lump  came  into  her 
throat;  but  she  checked  it  before  the  tears  came  and 
stood  up  and  drew  herself  together.  "Father  would 
have  me  brave ;  Ian  would  have  me  brave.  Come,  this  is 
no  time  for  crying,  I  must  think  hard. ' ' 

' '  I  might  get  out  on  to  the  moor  at  night,  but  I  should 
certainly  be  caught.  Besides  I  have  nowhere  to  go. 


TORTURE  275 

"I  could  disappear  into  the  secret  room,  but  I  should 
soon  starve — for  all  the  food  I  could  get. 

"I  might  get  over  to  Audry  at  Appleby,  but  that 
would  be  no  use  in  the  end;  what  should  I  do  next? 
Still  if  I  could  have  her  back  here,  she  could  feed  me  in 
the  secret  room. 

"Then  again  Ian  might  be  able  to  help — I  must  get  a 
letter  to  Audry  and  a  letter  to  Ian." 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote;  and  it  was  not  until  she 
began  to  write  to  others  that  she  fully  realised  the  des- 
perateness  of  her  situation  and  that,  if  help  did  not  come, 
she  would  certainly  be  imprisoned  and  tortured  on  the 
rack  and  probably  burnt  alive.  Aline  knew  that  they 
thought  nothing  of  hanging  children,  often  for  quite 
trivial  offences  and  had  heard  of  plenty  of  instances  of 
executions  of  children  under  twelve. 

When  she  had  finished  writing  the  day  was  nearly  done 
and  she  crept  very  forlornly  into  bed.  Her  head  ached 
and  her  heart  ached  still  more  and  she  fell  a-thinking 
how  the  letters  were  to  be  sent.  Even  if  Walter  Mar- 
grove  should  come  she  would  not  see  him,  though  it  was 
getting  time  for  his  return.  She  was  getting  desperate. 
She  pressed  her  little  hands  against  her  forehead  and  at 
last  the  stifled  tears  broke  forth.  They  were  some  relief 
and  bye  and  bye  she  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning  old  Elspeth  came  to  her  room  to 
bring  her  bread  and  water.  She  was  shocked  when  she 
saw  the  condition  of  the  child.  The  sleep  had  been 
broken  and  feverish  and  Aline  looked  wretchedly  ill. 

"0  hinnie,"  she  said,  "my  hinnie,  what  have  they 
been  doing  to  you  now?  Prithee  do  what  they  want, 


276  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

dearest.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  shut  up  here.  See, 
I  have  brought  you  a  pasty  with  chicken  in  it.  Old 
Elspeth  will  not  see  you  starve,  dear  heart ;  and  Walter 
Hargrove  came  yesternight  after  they  put  you  up  here 
and  he  hath  sent  you  this  little  packet.  He  said  if  I 
gave  you  the  linen  I  could  be  trusted  to  give  you  this. 
'  Trusted, '  indeed !  I  trow  so ;  what  aileth  the  man  ? ' ' 

Aline  sat  up  in  bed  and  stretched  out  her  hand 
eagerly  and  as  she  took  the  packet  she  wondered  whether 
she  dare  send  her  letters  by  Elspeth.  On  the  whole 
she  felt  it  was  rather  risky  to  send  lan's,  but  Audry's 
would  not  rouse  the  old  dame's  suspicion.  Should  she 
chance  them  both?  "Is  he  downstairs  now?"  she  said. 

"No,  hinnie,"  said  Elspeth,  "he  had  to  leave  very 
suddenly  this  morning." 

Aline  fell  back  on  the  bed  but  managed  to  turn  her 
face  away  and  say  in  a  half  joking  tone; — "Oh,  dear, 
how  unlucky!  Margrove  always  makes  a  pleasant 
change  and  I  have  been  so  stupid  as  to  miss  him." 

"I  am  so  sorry,  dearie,"  said  Elspeth;  "I  am  sure 
he  would  have  been  right  fain  to  see  you,  he  hath  a  great 
fancy  for  you,  I  know." 

"Well,  an  they  keep  me  up  here  till  he  cometh  again, 
you  tell  me,  Elspeth,  there's  a  dear,  when  he  is  here; 
and  I  will  write  a  little  note  to  him.  He  hath  been  very 
kind  to  me." 

"All  right,  hinnie,"  and  Elspeth  went  down-stairs. 

Aline  ate  the  bread  and  the  pasty.  She  was  not  hun- 
gry but  she  knew  that  she  was  getting  ill  and  she  thought 
that  it  would  help  her  to  keep  up  her  strength,  if  she 
ate  all  that  she  could.  As  she  ate,  she  turned  the  parcel 
over  and  over  with  her  left  hand.  It  was  a  bitter  blow 


TORTURE  277 

that  Hargrove  had  gone;  but  here  was  lan's  letter  and 
it  might  mark  the  turning  of  the  tide.  When  she  had 
finished  she  still  looked  at  the  packet  for  a  few  moments, 
wondering,  hoping,  dreaming. 

The  figure  of  Ian  rose  to  her  mind,  sitting  as  he  often 
did,  leaning  back  with  his  hands  clasped  round  one  knee 
and  the  foot  raised  from  the  ground. 

She  had  found  her  knight;  would  he  be  able  to  res- 
cue her  ?  True,  he  was  only  a  carpenter,  but  in  his  many 
travels  and  experiences  he  had  acquired  so  many  ac- 
complishments that  no  one  would  know  that  he  was  not 
of  gentle  blood.  "Oh!  I  do  wish  he  were  here,"  she 
said;  "yes,  even  if  he  could  not  help  me  I  wish  I  could 
see  him  again ; — well,  this  is  from  him. ' '  So  she  opened 
the  packet. 

The  first  thing  that  she  saw  was  a  beautiful  pair  of 
silk  hose  of  a  very  rich  deep  blue.  Fastened  to  these 
was  a  label,  saying: — "These  are  from  Walter  Mar- 
grove  and  myself,  mainly  from  Walter. ' ' 

They  were  an  absolutely  new  thing  in  Britain,  al- 
though they  had  been  in  use  for  a  short  time  in  Italy, 
and  were  so  much  lovelier  than  anything  she  had  ever 
seen  before  that  she  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
trying  them  on  at  once.  She  threw  off  the  bedclothes 
and  stretched  out  one  small  rosy  foot,  straight  as  a  die 
on  the  inner  side,  and  altogether  perfect  with  its  clearly 
articulated  toes  and  exquisitely  formed  nails.  Aline 
was  blissfully  unaware  that  there  was  not  another  to 
compare  with  it  in  the  whole  world  except  its  own  fellow 
delicately  poised  on  the  firmly  built  but  slender  ankle, 
which  she  drew  up  and  slipped  into  the  delightful  soft 
silk  hose.  It  fitted  to  perfection. 


278  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

She  then  put  on  the  other  and  stood  up,  holding  her 
little  nightrobe  high  while  she  looked  down  to  admire 
them.  Aline  had  not  the  slightest  touch  of  vanity,  but 
new  clothes  are  new  clothes  all  the  world  over.  She  then 
stepped  across  to  Audry's  cherished  and  rare  possession, 
a  long  mirror  which  had  come  from  Italy.  ' '  They  really 
are  a  glorious  blue, ' '  she  thought,  as  the  light  fell  on  the 
soft  lustrous  material. 

She  had  pleated  the  middle  of  the  nightrobe  into 
a  sort  of  band  round  her  waist;  the  front  below  the 
neck  was  unfastened,  so  that  the  effect  was  that  of  a 
short  tunic.  ' '  Why,  I  look  like  a  boy ! ' '  she  said  to  her- 
self ;  "if  it  were  not  for  my  hair." 

In  spite  of  her  slimness  there  was  a  muscular  devel- 
opment, very  refined  and  beautiful  in  line,  that  was  dis- 
tinctly boyish.  Her  slender  hips  and  exceptionally 
well  modelled  forearms,  which  were  bare,  completed  the 
illusion. 

"Yes,  I  look  like  the  pages  I  used  to  see  in  Edin- 
burgh"; and  then  a  bright  thought  struck  her; — 
"If  ever  I  have  to  try  and  escape  I  shall  flress  up  as 
a  boy."  She  pinned  the  nightdress  with  the  broad  belt 
as  it  was,  with  the  lower  hem  reaching  to  the  thigh. 
It  fell  down  at  the  back  somewhat,  but  that  did  not  show 
in  the  mirror.  She  then  hurried  down  the  secret  stair 
and  came  back  with  a  man's  bonnet  that  she  had  there 
noticed  among  the  things.  She  had  such  an  immense 
quantity  of  hair  that  it  was  only  by  twisting  it  very 
tightly  indeed  that  she  was  able  to  get  it  into  the  bonnet ; 
but  she  succeeded  at  last.  She  was  rather  tall  for  her 
age,  although  her  form  was  still  absolutely  that  of  a 
child,  and  an  admirable  boy  she  made. 


TORTURE  279 

Aline  laughed  aloud;  it  was  the  first  time  that  she 
had  laughed  for  a  weary  while. 

' '  Now  let  me  read  the  letter, ' '  she  said.  She  took  off 
the  stockings  and  folded  them  neatly  up,  put  them  away 
and  opened  the  letter. 

"To  my  dear  little  Aline, 

"Walter  Hargrove  hath  kindly  promised  to  bear  this  letter. 
It  is  with  deep  regret  that  I  will  tell  thee  how  that  my  plans 
have  not  prospered.  As  thou  knowest,  I  have  been  working  with 
one,  Matthew  Musgrave,  a  carpenter,  hoping  to  lay  by  money 
that  eventually  I  might  betake  me  to  the  road  like  our  friend 
Walter.  But  Matthew  hath  been  sick  of  an  ague  these  many 
weeks  past  and  I  find  that  he  hath  little  or  nothing  saved.  I  have 
done  what  I  might  but  my  small  means  are  exhausted,  and  we  are 
even  in  debt  for  the  purchase  of  wood.  The  boy,  Will  Ackroyd, 
hath  also  been  somewhat  of  an  anxiety  to  me,  so  that  I  am 
much  cast  down  in  spirit  and  indeed  as  Matthew  will  tell 
thee  am  somewhat  ailing  in  body.  This  I  regret  the  more  as  thy 
face  liveth  ever  before  me  and  I  have  thought  that  it  might  at  any 
moment  be  needful  for  me  to  come  unto  thine  assistance,  whereas 
I  even  fear  that  I  am  not  in  any  wise  able.  I  trust  that  Mistress 
Mowbray  is  not  treating  thee  ill  and  that  thou  and  that  dear 
child,  thy  cousin,  are  enjoying  all  happiness. 

"My  hard  times  will  doubtless  pass  and  better  will  come.  I 
think  of  thee  day  and  night  and  pray  for  thee  without  ceasing;  and 
sweet  child,  remember  that  whatever  the  difficulties,  I  would  fight 
through  everything  to  come  to  thine  aid  if  need  should  arise. 

"To-morrow  I  hope  to  be  able  to  send  thee  some  small  token 
from  Walter's  pack.  Meanwhile  I  say, — May  the  peace  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  be  with  thee  and  all  the  love  of  this  poor  mortal  heart  is 
thine;  as  Homer  saith;  'for  that  thou,  lady,  hast  given  me  my 
life.' 

"My  blessing  and  love  be  also  to  thy  cousin  Audry,  for  right 
kindly  did  she  minister  to  me. 

"Farewell,  bright  angel  of  my  dreams. 

"!AN  MENSTBIE. 

"An  so  be  that  thou  writest,  it  is  better  to  put  upon  the  cover 
the  name  of  James  Mitchell  whereby  I  am  known  here." 

Ian  had  been  very  seriously  ill  himself  from  trying 


280  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

to  undertake  more  than  was  possible.  His  unceasing 
care  and  tender  watchfulness  had  saved  Musgrave's  life, 
but  it  was  nearly  at  the  cost  of  his  own  and  he  was  but 
a  shadow  of  his  former  self. 

Aline 's  sympathetic  little  heart  read  more  between  the 
lines  than  Ian  had  intended  her  to  see  and  the  letter 
seemed  the  last  drop  in  her  cup  of  sorrow. 

It  was  too  much  and  this  time  she  fainted  right  away. 
When  she  came  to,  she  found  that  she  was  lying  on  the 
floor  and  old  Elspeth  was  bending  over  her  and  sprin- 
kling water  on  her  face.  The  old  woman  was  nearly  be- 
side herself  with  grief.  "0  my  bonnie  bonnie  child, 
what  shall  poor  Elspeth  do?  They  will  kill  you,  heart 
of  mine,  if  they  go  on  in  this  way.  See  you  are  cold 
as  a  stone  and  nothing  on  you  but  this  thin  rag  and 
that  unfastened  too. ' '  She  lifted  the  child  back  into  bed 
and  rushed  down-stairs  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  found 
some  hot  broth  ready  for  the  table  and  came  back  with 
a  bowl  of  it. 

On  the  way  she  met  Mistress  Mowbray. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Elspeth?"  the  lady  almost 
shrieked. 

"Mistress  Aline  was  in  a  dead  faint  on  the  floor  of 
her  room  and  stone  cold,  and  like  enough  to  die.  Such 
goings  on  as  there  have  been  in  this  house  lately  I 
have  never  seen  in  all  my  days.  First  the  child  is 
nearly  murdered  by  that  ne  'er  do  weel  Andrew  and  now 
the  whole  house  seems  bent  on  doing  the  same.  In  my 
young  days  old  Mistress  Mowbray  would  not  have  coun- 
tenanced such  doings  and  the  priests,  gramercy,  knew 
better  than  to  meddle  in  other  folk's  houses." 

Elspeth  who  had  known  three  generations  of  Mow- 


TORTURE  281 

brays  was  a  privileged  person,  but  this  was  more  than 
even  she  had  ever  before  ventured  to  say. 

"How  dare  you  speak  like  that?"  said  Mistress 
Mowbray. 

"Marry,  you  would  not  have  the  child's  death  at 
your  door,  would  you,  whatever  the  priest  may  bid? 
That  at  least  was  not  of  his  ordering." 

Mistress  Mowbray  glared  at  her,  but  said,  "Well,  take 
the  broth;  how  was  I  to  know  the  child  had  fainted? 
Yet  i'  faith  she  shall  not  have  all  of  that,"  and  she 
took  the  bowl  and  carried  it  down  and  poured  half  of 
it  back.  When  Elspeth  reached  the  child  she  was  so 
overcome  that  she  could  only  sit  on  the  bed  and  moan. 
Aline  put  her  arm  out  and  took  the  old  woman's  hand 
and  stroked  it  and  said, — "Elspeth,  do  not  take  it  so 
to  heart.  I  am  all  right  and,  look  you,  the  broth  is 
excellent.  See,  I  shall  be  quite  well  again  in  a  moment. 
A  little  faint  is  nothing.  Tell  me  how  deep  the  snow 
is  on  the  road  to  Middleton  and  how  the  sheep  are  get- 
ting on  in  this  cold  and  whether  there  be  any  news  from 
Appleby. ' ' 

So  she  gradually  coaxed  Elspeth  away  from  the  sub- 
ject of  her  own  troubles  and  even  made  her  smile  by 
telling  her  about  the  blue  hose  and  how  she  had  tried 
them  on,  and  how  pleased  with  them  she  was;  but  she 
kept  the  little  plan  of  dressing  up  like  a  boy  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TO   THE   RESCUE 

THAT  evening  Elspeth  went  down  to  the  Arn- 
sides.  She  was  really  very  much  concerned  at 
the  line  that  things  were  taking  and,  staunch 
Catholic  as  she  was,  she  had  no  mind  to  have  her  little 
mistress  ill  used.  She  of  course  knew  nothing  about 
her  neighbour's  faith  and  simply  went  to  them  because 
of  their  interest  in  Aline;  and  she  told  them  the  whole 
story  from  the  time  of  the  coming  of  Father  Martin. 

"We  helped  her  with  the  linen,"  she  said,  "but  I 
fear  this  is  a  more  difficult  matter;  but  it  makes  my 
heart  bleed  for  the  poor  innocent  and  she  only  twelve 
years  old.  We  can  manage  to  feed  her,  but  the  child 
will  pine  away  shut  up  there.  I  cannot  think  what  to 
do." 

"The  thing  would  be  to  get  Mistress  Audry  back," 
said  Janet.  "That  would  be  something." 

"Ay,  that  would  it,"  Elspeth  assented. 

They  talked  it  over  for  some  time  and  Elspeth  de- 
cided that  she  would  try  and  say  something  in  an  in- 
direct way  to  Master  Mowbray,  which  might  result  in 
his  sending  for  his  daughter. 

When  she  was  gone  John  turned  to  his  mother, — 
"Mother,  somehow  I  believe  Walter  Margrove  is  the 
man  to  help  us,  and  he  told  us  to  let  him  hear  how  things 

282 


TO  THE  RESCUE  283 

went  and  they  have  gone  a  deal  worse  than  any  of  us 
could  have  dreamed.  He  knows  the  world  and  he 
knows,  too,  what  the  real  risk  is.  Even  if  Mistress 
Audrjr  comes  back,  methinks  that  will  not  alter  the  true 
danger. ' ' 

' '  Ay, ' '  said  his  mother,  ' '  but  Master  Walter  was  here 
but  yesterday,  how  are  we  to  get  him?" 

John  thought  for  a  time  and  then  said, — "I  have  no 
regular  work  here  and  Silas,  who  sees  to  my  hours,  is 
one  of  our  faith.  I  would  even  risk  telling  him  some- 
thing; although  I  need  not  say  it  is  for  Mistress  Aline 
that  I  want  to  see  Walter." 

' '  But  how  would  you  find  Walter  even  if  you  did  con- 
sult Silas?"  said  his  mother. 

"That  should  not  be  difficult,"  said  John.  "He  al- 
ways calls  at  Carlisle  on  his  rounds  and  I  think  I  heard 
him  say  that  he  expected  to  be  there  this  time  within  a 
sennight.  In  any  case,  however,  he  gets  there  long 
enough  before  he  gets  here.  He  generally  stays  with 
one,  Timothy  Fenwick,  at  the  sign  of  the  Golden  Keys. ' ' 

"How  will  you  go,"  said  his  mother,  "round  by  Mid- 
dleton?" 

"No,  it  is  such  a  long  way  round;  I  shall  keep  this 
side  the  river. ' ' 

"What,  with  all  this  snow!" 

"Yes,  if  I  can  get  off  to-day;  the  sky  is  clear  and  the 
weather  set  and  the  snow  hard." 

"Well,  good-bye,  my  boy.  God  bless  you  and  I  trust 
the  Lord  will  grant  you  success. ' ' 

John  Arnside  obtained  the  permission  with  no  trou- 
ble at  all,  made  himself  up  a  bundle,  put  it  on  a  stick  over 
his  shoulder,  kissed  his  mother  and  set  off. 


284  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Fortune  favoured  him  and  on  the  third  day  he  was  in 
Carlisle  without  mishap. 

He  enquired  for  the  Golden  Keys  and  easily  found 
the  house,  but  "Walter  was  not  there.  He  found,  how- 
ever, a  man  seated  by  the  fire ;  he  was  of  medium  height, 
lightly  built  and  well  proportioned.  He  looked  very  ill 
and  was  holding  one  knee  with  his  hands  as  he  leaned 
back,  and  was  gazing  into  the  fire  with  his  deep  set 
eyes. 

"Come  and  sit  by  the  fire,  lad,  the  day  is  cold." 

John  came  as  invited.  ' '  I  heard  you  asking  for  Wal- 
ter Hargrove,"  said  the  stranger,  "he  will  not  be  here 
for  some  time.  I  hope  your  business  is  not  of  impor- 
tance. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  the  boy,  "I  must  just  wait,  unless  you 
could  tell  me  where  he  is  to  be  found. ' ' 

"That  could  not  I,"  replied  the  other.  "I  know  he 
was  going  to  Newcastle  and  then  up  Tyne  and  down 
Tees;  after  that  I  think  he  was  going  to  Skipton  and 
West  to  Clitheroe  and  then  North.  He  should  be  some- 
where on  the  Tees  now,  I  reckon,  perhaps  down  as  far 
as  Rokeby." 

"Do  you  know  the  Tees?"  said  John. 

The  man  lifted  his  grey  deep  set  eyes ;  they  had  a  far 
away  look  in  them,  as  though  he  did  not  see  the  boy  be- 
fore him.  They  were  watching  the  Tees  come  over  the 
High  Force  and  the  rainbow  that  hung  in  the  quivering 
spray. 

"Yes,  I  know  the  Tees,"  he  said  at  length.  "I  know 
the  Tees. 

* '  Do  you  know  the  Tees  ? "  he  went  on ;  and  it  seemed 
to  John  that  the  hollow  eyes  in  the  sick  man's  face 


TO  THE  RESCUE  285 

looked  at  him  hungrily.  "Maybe  you  come  from  those 
parts  yourself." 

"I  do,"  said  John;  "I  was  born  and  bred  in  Upper 
Teesdale." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"John  Arnside." 

The  man  looked  at  him  and  then  the  sad  eyes  seemed 
to  brighten  a  little.  "John  Arnside,  son  of  Janet  Arn- 
side?" he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  John,  wondering  what  was  coming  next. 

The  man  got  up  and  closed  the  door  softly,  he  then 
came  back  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  boy.  "I  am 
so  glad  to  see  you,  John;  I  know  about  you.  I  heard 
you  asking  for  Walter  Hargrove,  and  oh,"  he  continued, 
apprehensively,  "I  do  hope  it  is  nothing  about  Mistress 
Aline  that  brings  you  here.  Yes,  I  know  quite  well  who 
you  are  and  you  may  trust  me. ' ' 

John 's  was  a  simple  nature  and  not  easily  suspicious ; 
he  just  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  reflected  that  if 
he  merely  said  what  was  known  to  every  one  he  could 
not  do  any  harm.  Walter  Margrove's  part  in  the  mat- 
ter, he  could  keep  for  the  present  as  a  second  string  to 
his  bow. 

"They  say  that  Mistress  Aline  is  a  heretic,"  he  said, 
"and  they  are  going  to  burn  her." 

The  man  clutched  at  the  table  to  try  and  prevent  him- 
self from  falling;  the  shock  was  so  terrible  in  his  weak 
condition ;  but  he  slipped  back  and  was  only  saved  by  the 
boy  catching  him  as  he  fell. 

"0  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "not  so,  not  so." 

He  then  made  a  tremendous  effort  and  pulled  him- 
self together,  but  it  was  enough  for  John,  there  was  no 


286  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

doubt  that  this  stranger  was  in  some  way  as  interested 
in  Aline 's  welfare  as  himself. 

"We  must  save  her  then,"  said  the  stranger  in  a 
steady  voice,  while  within  him  his  thoughts  and  feelings 
tossed  as  in  a  storm. 

"Marry  though,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"Let  us  sit  down  and  think —  Now  look  you  here; 
it  is  not  easy  to  think  quickly,  but  we  must  act  quickly. 
Can  you  get  speech  of  Mistress  Aline?" 

"No,"  answered  John;  "she  is  confined  to  her  room, 
but  old  Elspeth  sees  her." 

"Can  you  write,  John?" 

"Gramercy  no,  Master,  you  would  hardly  expect  the 
likes  of  me  to  be  able  to  do  that." 

"Well,  you  must  get  her  my  letter,  somehow,  and, 
furthermore,  tell  me  what  you  yourself  are  willing  to 
do  for  Mistress  Aline." 

"I  would  give  my  life  for  her,"  said  John  simply. 

"Then,"  said  the  other,  looking  him  straight  in  the 
face,  ' '  you  must  hie  you  home  at  once  and  I  will  follow 
as  soon  as  I  can  be  ready.  Keep  a  sharp  look-out  for 
the  inquisitors  and,  if  I  do  not  come  before  them,  you 
must  get  speech  of  her  by  hook  or  by  crook  and  tell 
her  that  I,  James  Mitchell,  told  you  that  she  must  re- 
veal to  you  our  secret  and  that  you  must  feed  her.  She 
will  know  what  that  means  and  you  must  do  as  she  bids 
you.  Indeed,  if  you  get  there  before  me,  you  had  better 
do  this  in  any  case." 

"Surely  I  will;  how  could  I  other?" 

' '  Marry  then,  hasten ;  for,  even  now  we  know  not  what 
an  hour  may  bring  forth.  We  must  not  wait  for  Walter, 
though  he  would  have  been  our  best  aid.  God  speed  thy 


TO  THE  RESCUE  287 

feet,  John ;  my  heart  goes  with  thee  and  I  myself  shall 
follow  hard  after  thee." 

Without  more  ado  John  took  his  small  bundle  and 
started  off  at  once. 

Ian  was  nearly  beside  himself,  the  shock  had  brought 
on  the  pains  in  his  head  and  he  put  his  hands  to  his 
throbbing  brows  and  strove  to  think.  His  money  had 
all  gone;  how  was  he  to  act?  Certainly  the  first  thing 
was  to  get  the  child  away  somewhere,  but  how  even  was 
that  to  be  done  without  horses?  If  only  Margrove  and 
his  horses  had  been  to  hand !  But  that  was  a  vain  wish. 
Of  course  she  could  be  concealed  in  the  secret  room, 
but  he  felt  this  was  too  perilous.  There  was  risk 
enough  in  feeding  him  when  Aline  and  Audry  had  been 
in  the  house.  Suspicion  would  be  roused  tenfold  if 
Aline  were  simply  to  disappear.  John  would  certainly 
be  seen,  sooner  or  later,  carrying  food  to  the  gully. 
Mortifying  as  the  discovery  of  old  Moll  had  been,  it  was 
a  mercy  to  be  forewarned.  No,  it  might  do  as  a  very 
temporary  expedient,  but  no  more. 

Of  course  it  might  be  just  within  the  bounds  of  pos- 
sibility to  get  horses  from  Holwick  Hall  itself ;  but  fail- 
ure would  mean  absolute  and  irretrievable  disaster.  No 
again,  nothing  must  be  left  to  chance.  Suddenly  a 
thought  struck  him,  there  were  horses  on  the  estate  where 
Andrew  "Woplridge  worked.  Possibly  Andrew  might 
help  him  and,  if  not,  the  risk  was  comparatively  small. 

This  then  decided  him.  He  would  set  out  immedi- 
ately ;  but  there  was  one  more  thing  to  consider.  Should 
he  say  anything  to  the  boy,  Wilfred?  It  was  true,  he 
argued,  that  the  more  people  that  knew,  the  greater  the 
chance  of  discovery.  But  on  the  other  hand,  if  any- 


288  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

thing  should  happen  to  him,  how  was  Aline  to  be  saved  ? 
After  all  there  was  still  Walter  Hargrove,  who  would 
surely  attempt  to  do  something.  Finally  he  went  and 
found  Wilfred. 

"Wilfred,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  ask  a  favour  of  thee." 
' '  That  mayest  thou  well  ask,  Master  Mitchell. ' ' 
"Well,  I  shall  not  tell  thee  more  than  that  it  con- 
cerns a  matter  of  life  and  death,  so  that  if  any  enquire 
of  thee,  there  will  be  little  that  thou  canst  say,  how- 
ever they  question  thee.     But  when  Walter  Margrove 
cometh,  tell  him  that  Mistress  Aline  is  in  great  jeopardy 
and  let  him  do  that  which  seemeth  him  best  and  may 
the  Lord  quicken  his  steps." 

"What,  the  little  lady  of  whom  they  were  talking  one 
night  not  long  syne?" 

"Yes,  that  same;  now  be  faithful  to  us,  Wilfred." 
"But,  Master  Mitchell,  thou  art  not  going  to  leave 
us,"  said  the  boy  piteously.     "After  all  that  thou  hast 
done  for  us  that  cannot  be.     See,  prithee  let  me  come 
with  thee  an  thou  must  go. ' ' 

Ian  considered  for  a  moment  as  to  whether  the  boy 
might  be  a  help  or  a  hindrance  and  decided  that  it 
would  rather  complicate  matters  than  otherwise  to  take 
him. 

"No,  Wilfred,  it  cannot  be,"  he  said;  "but  thou 
mightest,  so  far  as  thou  art  able,  go  out  on  the  road  to 
Brampton  when  thou  art  not  at  work  and  keep  a  look-out 
for  me  coming  from  Alston  or  Kirkoswald  between  the 
third  and  the  seventh  day  from  now." 

"Indeed  thou  mightest  do  better.  I  will  show  thee 
more.  Keep  thine  eyes  and  ears  open  for  all  the  gossip 
of  the  city.  I  know  thee  well  enough  to  know  that  thou 


TO  THE  RESCUE  289 

wouldst  not  see  any  one  burned  alive  and  I  go  to  save 
one  from  the  burning.  If  thou  nearest  aught  of  in- 
quisitors come  as  far  south  along  the  road  as  thou 
mayest. ' ' 

Wilfred  bade  good-bye  and  promised  by  all  that  was 
holy  that  he  would  do  everything  that  he  could. 

Ian  had  decided  to  take  nothing  but  one  small  wallet, 
as  less  likely  to  rouse  suspicion,  and  started  off.  What 
was  his  horror,  before  he  had  gone  ten  paces  from  the 
door,  to  see  a  group  of  black  robed  figures  on  horse- 
back approaching  the  hostelry,  and  his  horror  increased 
to  terror  when  he  recognised  one  of  the  figures  as  Father 
Austin,  who  had  superintended,  when  he  himself  had 
been  tortured  in  York. 

The  keen  shrewd  face  shewed  instant  recognition  in 
spite  of  lan's  altered  appearance.  "Whither  away,  Ian 
Menstrie?  Come  return  to  the  hostelry  with  us  and 
have  a  talk  with  an  old  friend."  An  evil  smile  of  tri- 
umph spread  over  his  face  and  he  added  quietly  but 
firmly  to  his  attendants, — "That  is  the  man  we  have 
sought  these  many  months,  our  Lady  hath  delivered  him 
into  our  hands." 

Ian  said  nothing,  but  Wilfred,  who  was  still  standing 
at  the  door,  said, — "That  is  not  Ian  Menstrie,  that  is 
Master  James  Mitchell." 

"I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Master 
Mitchell,"  said  Father  Austin  sarcastically,  bowing 
from  his  horse. 

"My  name  is  Ian  Menstrie,"  said  Ian. 

"You  have  varying  names  then,  like  a  gaol-bird," 
replied  the  inquisitor  with  a  sneer. 

"We  shall  have  two  for  our  burning,  perdy!"  he 


290  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

continued  to  his  companion.  ''It  will  make  a  right 
merrie  blaze.  What  think  you,  Father  Martin?" 

"Burning's  too  good  for  them;  I  would  give  them  a 
taste  of  something  first.  As  for  that  young  witch  up 
in  Holwick,  the  Devil  will  be  sorry  to  see  her  in  Hell 
before  her  time.  If  she  had  lived  to  grow  up,  she  would 
have  charmed  men's  souls  to  Satan  more  surely  than 
any  siren  ever  charmed  a  mariner." 

"If  we  burn  the  body  shall  we  not  save  the  soul?" 
said  Father  Austin. 

"That  doctrine  liketh  me  not;  no,  Father,  methinks 
in  these  cases  we  do  but  hasten  the  final  judgment." 

"Have  a  care,  friend,  lest  these  be  heresies  also." 

"la  heretic!  That  is  a  mirthful  jest."  Then  look- 
ing toward  Ian  he  went  on, — "As  for  this  fellow,  he 
seems  a  sickly  creature;  I  reckon  by  the  looks  of  him 
that  he  has  not  long  to  live.  But  it  is  good  for  the 
souls  of  the  faithful  that  he  should  blaze  to  the  glory 
of  God  rather  than  die  in  his  bed.  Marry,  methinks 
he  is  like  enough  to  faint  even  now." 

Nothing  but  Ian  Menstrie's  iron  will  indeed  pre- 
vented it.  The  pains  shot  through  his  head  like  knives 
and  his  back  and  joints  ached  as  though  red  hot  with 
fire,  but  it  was  nothing  to  the  anguish  of  his  heart; 
yet  he  felt  that  his  only  chance  was  to  keep  up  somehow. 

He  would  have  died  on  the  rack  some  five  months  ago 
had  it  not  been  for  his  sheer  strength  of  will.  He  had 
done  it  before,  he  would  do  it  again;  he  would  defy 
them  yet. 

Great  cold  beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  fore- 
head, but  he  held  himself  erect.  "Is  it  Timothy  Fen- 
wick's  hostelry  you  seek,  gentlemen?" 


TO  THE  RESCUE  291 

There  was  a  touch  of  defiance,  even  of  scorn,  in  the 
lordly  ring  of  his  voice.  Father  Austin  knew  only  too 
well  that,  clever  as  he  was  himself,  he  was  no  match 
for  this  man,  who  had  beaten  him  once;  ''But  he  shall 
not  escape  me  this  time, ' '  he  said  to  himself,  and  having 
already  alighted,  he  followed  into  the  hostelry.  "The 
day  is  past  its  prime,"  he  remarked,  "and  we  have 
caught  our  main  game.  We  have  come  far  and  there  is 
no  haste.  We  will  bide  here  and  rest  till  Wednesday; 
the  little  bird  at  Holwick  will  not  flutter  far,  I  war- 
rant ye." 

It  amused  Father  Austin  to  have  Ian  with  them  at 
meals  to  taunt  him  and  to  gloat  over  his  own  triumph. 
Ian  realised  that  he  would  have  little  chance  unless  he 
were  well  nourished,  so  he  fell  in  with  their  scheme  and 
humoured  them.  At  first  he  would  talk  brightly  to  the 
others  and  then,  as  he  was  an  excellent  raconteur  and 
had  a  pretty  wit,  he  made  himself  such  good  company 
that  they  could  ill  spare  him.  He  played  with  Father 
Austin,  assuming  an  attitude  of  deference  and  fear  with 
an  anxious  desire  to  please;  but  if  he  wanted  to  retire 
to  rest,  he  would  lead  him  into  an  argument  and  when 
the  father  was  worsted  he  would  order  the  guards  to 
take  Ian  to  his  room. 

Again,  by  extraordinary  will  power,  he  would  achieve 
the  almost  impossible  feat  of  forcing  himself  to  sleep. 
It  was  Aline 's  only  chance,  he  argued ;  and  in  that  way 
he  almost  miraculously  overcame  the  raging  torments 
of  his  mind. 

By  the  Wednesday  he  had  even  recovered  slightly 
and  felt  rather  like  one  going  into  battle  than  like  a 
beaten  man.  He  had  thought  out  several  plans ;  but  the 


292  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

best  one  was  to  try  and  contrive  to  cross  the  ford  of 
the  Eden  when  it  was  getting  dark.  For  this  some 
delay  was  necessary,  and  he  even  managed  to  whisper 
to  Wilfred  unobserved,  while  he  set  the  company  off 
into  boisterous  and  uncontrollable  laughter,  that  he 
should  loosen  one  of  the  horse's  shoes.  He  reckoned 
further  to  be  able  to  do  something  more  in  the  way  of 
delay  by  his  powers  of  conversation. 

Another  part  of  his  scheme  was  to  put  his  captors 
off  the  scent,  if  he  should  succeed  in  making  his  escape, 
and  therefore  he  took  occasion  to  remark;  "Well, 
Father,  and  when  we  set  out  on  our  travels,  whither  are 
we  bound?  Is  it  south  we  shall  be  going?" 

''Forsooth,  man,  you  do  not  think  we  should  go 
north,  do  you?" 

"No,  may  be  not;  but  I  should  like  to  see  Scotland 
again. ' ' 

"Trouble  not  yourself,  you  will  never  see  Scotland 
more ;  and  when  next  I  visit  Scotland  the  Regent  Mary 
will  be  glad  to  hear  that  her  daughter  has  one  heretic 
the  less  among  her  subjects." 

"But  what  if  I  should  reach  Scotland  first,"  said  Ian 
jocularly.  ' '  That  might  spoil  the  pleasure  of  your  visit. ' ' 

"There  is  no  fear  of  that,"  replied  the  other. 

"Bishop  Bonner  may  think  differently  from  your- 
self," Ian  rejoined;  "it  is  not  every  heretic  that  even 
Bonner  burns.  There 's  many  a  slip  twixt  cup  and  lip ; 
and  Bonner  might  send  me  to  Scotland  if  I  promised 
to  stay  there.  I  warrant  if  once  I  were  on  that  side 
again,  there  would  be  little  temptation  to  come  over." 

"Come,  this  is  no  time  for  talking,  we  must  be  off," 
said  Father  Austin. 


TO  THE  RESCUE  293 

All  fell  out  as  Ian  had  planned;  the  shoe  was  quite 
loose  and  before  they  had  reached  the  city  gate,  Ian 
said  to  Father  Martin,  "Methinks,  Father,  your  mare 
will  shortly  cast  her  shoe." 

So  they  returned  to  the  hostelry  where  there  was  a 
smithy.  Ian  then  succeeded  in  getting  them  all  inter- 
ested in  a  thrilling  narrative  just  as  the  mare  was 
ready,  and  put  off  the  time  until  it  seemed  best  to  stay 
and  have  dinner  before  starting.  More  stories  length- 
ened the  meal,  so  that  it  was  not  till  well  on  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  short  winter  day  that  they  actually  set  out. 

Ian  was  placed  in  the  middle,  surrounded  by  the 
guards,  with  loaded  pistols,  and  his  hands  were  tied, 
but  not  very  tightly,  as  they  allowed  him  to  hold  the 
reins.  Try  as  he  would  he  could  not  help  the  violent 
beating  of  his  heart.  Could  he,  one  man,  unarmed  and 
bound,  outwit  all  these  knaves?  The  vision  of  little 
Aline  rose  before  him.  "I  must  fight  the  very  fates," 
he  said  to  himself,  "verily,  I  must  win."  His  thoughts 
travelled  back  to  those  days,  long  ago,  when  as  a  mere 
child  he  had  given  his  heart-worship  to  the  beautiful 
girl  who  had  gone  from  him,  but  whom  he  had  loved 
with  a  passionate  devotion  ever  since.  He  had  said 
practically  nothing  to  Aline,  but  he  was  sure  that  he 
knew  whence  the  strange  likeness  came;  and  for  the 
double  claim  that  she  had  upon  him,  fate,  that  had  so 
cruelly  treated  him  long  ago,  should  be  made  to  yield. 
He  felt  the  strength  of  his  own  will  like  a  white  fire 
and  then  he  trembled  for  a  moment  lest  he  should  be 
fighting  against  God.  "0  Lord,"  he  prayed,  "Thou 
hast  brought  me  on  this  road  and  Thou  hast  made  this 
lovely  child;  let  her  not  perish  by  the  machinations  of 


294  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

evil  men.  Take  my  life,  0  God,  give  me  all  torture 
and  the  terrible  burning,  but  grant  her  happiness." 

He  felt  a  sudden  influx  of  power  and  prayed  again 
a  prayer  of  thankfulness.  ' '  Yes, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  will  bend 
fate  to  my  will  and  God  will  smile  on  my  struggle  and 
then  I  will  yield  myself  to  Him  and  He  shall  toss  me 
into  the  void  or  do  unto  me  in  my  despite  whatsoever 
seemeth  Him  good." 

It  was  a  long  road  and  the  spirits  of  the  party  flagged. 
It  was,  moreover,  bitterly  cold,  but  Ian  had  not  dared 
to  put  on  more  clothing  for  fear  that  it  should  defeat 
his  plans.  There  had  been  a  thaw  and  he  watched 
anxiously  for  the  river.  He  had  succeeded  during  the 
long  ride,  in  very  considerably  loosening  the  cord  that 
tied  his  wrists,  and  although  it  was  still  quite  tight 
round  one  wrist  and  he  could  not  be  certain  of  freeing 
the  other,  he  was  sure  that  he  could  slip  it  sufficiently 
to  get  twenty  to  thirty  inches  of  free  play  between  his 
hands.  He  had  managed,  too,  greatly  to  fray  the  por- 
tion that  would  be  the  connecting  piece. 

It  was  getting  dusk  when  they  reached  the  river,  and, 
owing  to  the  recent  heavy  weather  and  thaws,  the  ford 
was  so  high  that  the  water  was  more  than  up  to  the 
horses'  girths.  lan's  heart  beat  more  violently  than 
ever;  it  seemed  almost  as  though  it  could  be  heard. 
"Aline,  Aline,  had  she  no  more  reliable  deliverer  than 
himself?" 

As  they  crossed,  the  horses  had  to  pick  their  way  and 
they  spread  out  a  good  deal  so  that  they  were  almost 
in  a  line,  with  Ian  in  the  middle,  who  managed  also  to 
coax  his  horse  a  little  bit  down  the  stream.  He  then 
nerved  himself  for  the  supreme  effort  and,  first  jerking 


TO  THE  RESCUE  295 

his  horse  back  almost  on  to  its  haunches,  so  as  to  give  in 
the  gloom  the  appearance  of  the  animal  having 
stumbled,  he  flung  himself  from  its  back  shrieking, — 
"Help,  help,"  as  he  went.  As  soon  as  the  water  closed 
over  him  he  struck  out  and  swam  under  water  as  far 
as  he  possibly  could.  Unfortunately  the  cord  did  not 
break  as  he  hoped  and  the  swimming  was  exceedingly 
difficult,  but  there  was  sufficient  play  of  cord  to  make 
the  feat  quite  possible,  and  the  swift  current  helped  him 
not  a  little. 

It  was  perhaps  fortunate  that  nearly  all  the  pistols 
were  discharged  at- once,  before  he  came  to  the  surface, 
as  they  were  fired  at  random  into  the  confused  water 
round  the  horse,  which  had  some  difficulty  in  regaining 
its  footing. 

When  he  rose  he  immediately  took  a  breath  and  went 
under  again.  Only  one  man  was  looking  in  that  direc- 
tion and  he  did  not  seriously  think  that  the  dark  spot 
in  the  turbid  river  was  really  anything;  where  occasion- 
ally a  half  hidden  boulder  would  appear  above  the 
Avater.  But  he  took  aim,  more  or  less  mechanically  or 
from  intuition,  and  fired,  and  the  bullet  actually  grazed 
lan's  shoulder. 

Before  he  had  appeared  again  the  little  company  had 
turned  to  the  riderless  horse  and  those  who  had  lances 
were  prodding  into  the  deeps  of  the  river.  Again  he 
swam  under  water;  it  was  still  very  shallow  and  he 
bruised  himself  several  times  more  or  less  severely  on 
the  boulders  in  the  river  bed.  He  did  this  twice  more 
and  the  water  grew  deeper;  and  then  he  ventured  to 
glance  back.  They  were  already  but  dimly  visible  and 
he  knew  that  he  himself  was  out  of  sight,  so  he  slowly 


296  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

made  for  the  bank  with  some  difficulty  across  the  cur- 
rent. When  he  reached  the  bank  they  were  no  longer 
to  be  seen,  and  he  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  icy  water. 
But  the  air  was  miserably  cold,  even  more  trying,  as 
is  often  the  case,  than  during  the  frost  itself. 

He  was  only  two  miles  from  Andrew's  cottage,  which 
he  had  once  visited,  and  he  wondered  whether  it  would 
be  safe  for  him  to  go  there  at  once.  After  all,  the  risk 
was  about  as  great  one  way  as  another.  Besides,  he 
hoped  that  they  would  think  he  was  drowned  and,  even 
if  they  did  not,  that  they  would  think  he  would  en- 
deavour to  make  his  way  north  to  Scotland.  In  any 
case  it  would  not  take  him  long  to  perish  from  ex- 
posure. Of  course,  he  would  have  to  cross  his  enemies' 
tracks  and  he  decided  to  keep  near  the  water's  edge  as 
at  least  affording  some  chance  of  escape.  He  soon  man- 
aged to  get  rid  of  the  cord  that  tied  his  hands  and  crept 
along  by  the  wooded  banks  looking  and  listening 
intently. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  heard  voices  and  they  grew 
louder ;  he  lay  down  on  the  brink  and  waited  a  moment. 
In  the  still  evening  they  could  be  heard  quite  distinctly. 

"Oh,  the  fellow  is  drowned  right  enough,"  said  one 
of  the  voices. 

"Yes,  curse  the  knave,"  said  the  other  voice,  which 
was  that  of  Father  Austin.  "It  grieveth  me  sore. 
Mother  Church  hath  missed  an  opportunity  for  a  great 
lesson.  I  would  even  that  we  had  his  corpse,  it  would 
be  something  to  show;  and  at  the  least  I  should  get  the 
credit  for  the  bringing  of  the  loon  to  his  death.  I  am 
greatly  afeared  lest  he  may  have  gotten  away  to  Scot- 
land. Did  he  not  say  something  to  me  himself  about 


TO  THE  RESCUE  297 

Scotland  and  the  slip  twixt  cup  and  lip?  He  is  a  deep 
one  as  I  know  to  my  cost.  I  would  that  this  had  hap- 
pened earlier  in  the  day.  It  will  be  quite  dark  in 
about  half  an  hour.  Beshrew  me,  how  came  it  that  the 
rogue  was  not  tied?" 

''His  wrists  were  tied,  Father,"  said  the  other  voice. 
"I  noticed  that  just  before  we  came  to  the  river." 

''Oh,  I  meant  tied  to  the  horse,  but  who  would  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing!  However,  if  the  wrists  were 
tied,  belike  it  may  have  been  an  accident  and  the  knave 
must  be  dead.  I  trow  it  was  but  a  dog's  chance.  Be- 
sides, one  of  those  bullets  must  have  hit  him.  The 
body  must  have  been  swept  down  stream." 

The  surmise  about  the  bullet  was  true  enough,  as  Ian 
knew  to  his  cost,  and  the  wound  was  an  added  pain. 
"It  is  wonderful  what  the  human  frame  can  stand," 
he  said  to  himself.  "I  cannot  think  how  I  am  alive  at 
all.  I  must  win  this  game  somehow  and  the  next  move 
is  mine." 

He  slowly  lowered  himself  into  the  water.  The  men 
had  stood  still,  a  little  higher  up  the  stream,  not  twenty 
yards  from  where  he  was.  It  was  a  trying  test  to  his 
nerves,  but  he  hoped  he  was  concealed  by  the  brush- 
wood on  the  flooded  bank. 

He  waited  awhile  and  heard  them  discuss  how  a  few 
of  the  party  would  try  and  make  search  in  the  direction 
of  Scotland  and  the  remainder  go  south.  Apparently 
they  were  waiting  for  some  of  the  others  to  join  them 
and  the  conversation  turned  to  other  subjects. 

Ian  was  standing  on  the  bottom,  but  had  to  work  his 
arms  all  the  time  to  prevent  himself  from  being  carried 
down  by  the  current.  His  teeth  chattered  and  his 


298  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

fingers  were  numb  with  the  pain  of  the  cold.  "If  I  stay 
here  any  longer,"  he  thought,  "the  cold  will  finish  me." 
So  he  struck  out  and  by  the  aid  of  the  brushwood  swam 
within  a  foot  or  two  of  where  they  were  standing.  It 
was  an  anxious  moment  and  although  the  stream  was 
slacker  near  the  bank  it  was  slow  work.  But  he  passed 
them  unobserved,  although  he  experienced  a  tumultuous 
wave  of  feeling  when  the  conversation  stopped  short 
for  an  instant  and  he  feared  that  they  were  listening. 

But  at  last  he  judged  that  it  might  be  safe  to  creep 
out,  and  at  first  he  crawled  and  then  walked  quietly, 
but  finally  broke  into  a  run,  as  much  for  the  cold  as  for 
any  other  reason ;  and,  in  twenty  minutes  from  the  time 
he  started  running,  he  found  himself  at  Andrew's 
cottage. 

It  was  in  a  secluded  spot,  quite  near  the  river,  and 
about  a  third  of  a  mile  from  the  Hall  where  Andrew 
was  employed.  He  crept  softly  to  the  window  and 
peeped  in.  Andrew  was  there  alone.  So  he  knocked 
at  the  door. 

Andrew's  astonishment  was  immense  as  he  opened 
the  door  and  still  more  so  when  he  saw  that  his  visitor 
was  dripping  wet. 

' '  Can  you  let  me  have  some  dry  clothes,  Andrew,  and 
help  me  to  get  warm,  and  provide  me  with  something 
for  the  inner  man?" 

"That  I  can,  Master  Mitchell,"  and  Andrew  be- 
stirred himself,  brought  the  clothes  and  made  up  a 
roaring  fire  and  prepared  a  simple  but  appetising 
supper. 

When  Ian  had  finished  he  stretched  out  his  feet  to 
the  cheerful  blaze.  It  was  tempting  to  stay  and  rest 


TO  THE  RESCUE  299 

after  all  his  sufferings.  The  wound  in  his  shoulder 
was  very  painful,  although  Andrew  had  bandaged  it, 
and  the  sundry  cuts  and  bruises  made  him  feel  very 
stiff.  But  there  was  much  to  be  done  and  no  time  to 
be  lost. 

He  talked  things  over  with  Andrew,  very  cautiously, 
as  he  was  not  sure  what  line  he  would  take.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  the  Hall  was  nearly  empty;  the  family  and 
their  immediate  entourage  were  South  during  the  winter 
and  the  reeve  was  away  on  business  with  two  of  the  other 
men;  so  Andrew's  help  in  getting  the  horses  was  not 
needed  after  all.  Ian  led  him  into  all  kinds  of  general 
gossip  about  the  place  and  discovered  how  many  horses 
were  kept  and  where  the  stables  were,  without  exciting 
any  suspicion.  Andrew  offered  to  come  with  him  to 
Holwick,  but  Ian  doubted  whether  it  would  not  make 
matters  more  and  not  less  difficult  and  Andrew's  disap- 
pearance would  itself  give  a  clue. 

Luck  favoured  him,  he  found  that  the  man  who  had 
charge  of  the  horses,  while  the  reeve  was  away,  was  a 
drunken  fellow,  whose  cottage  was  not  far  from 
Andrew's  on  the  way  to  the  Hall.  Owing  to  the  ab- 
sence of  the  reeve  he  was  having  a  more  dissipated  time 
even  than  usual.  It  was  his  custom  to  see  to  the  horses 
the  last  thing  at  night,  and  Ian  determined  on  an 
attempt  to  get  the  better  of  him. 

Without  explaining  his  movements  to  Andrew  he  said 
it  was  time  for  him  to  be  going,  and  he  set  out  into 
the  darkness.  There  was  just  enough  starlight  to  find 
his  way  and  he  soon  reached  Jock's  cottage.  The  man 
had  not  returned,  so  Ian  crouched  down  behind  a  tree 
to  wait  for  him. 


300  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

He  was  trembling  with  excitement  and  apprehension 
and  was  disturbed  in  spirit  about  the  part  of  the  ven- 
ture in  which  he  was  engaged.  He  was  deliberately 
setting  out  to  steal  the  horses  and  he  felt  that  it  was 
a  sin.  He  did  not  try  to  justify  himself,  although  he 
had  determined  that  he  would  make  all  possible  repara- 
tion so  that  the  owner  of  the  horses  would  not  suffer. 
He  had  written  a  note  to  his  mother  which  he  had  given 
to  Andrew,  just  saying  that  if  his  adventure  should  mis- 
carry and  Andrew  did  not  hear  from  him  shortly,  he  was 
to  take  it  to  Stirling  and  ask  for  some  relatives  of  his  of 
the  name  of  Menstrie,  as  he  had  no  relatives  named  Mit- 
chell still  alive.  In  the  letter  he  had  said  that  she  was 
to  clear  his  honour  as  far  as  was  possible  by  replacing 
the  horses  if  death  should  overtake  him. 

Yet  he  did  not  feel  that  this  in  the  least  altered  the 
crime;  but  he  argued  to  himself,  that  if  the  crime  did 
not  hurt  any  one  that  it  was  only  his  own  soul  that  would 
suffer.  For  that  he  was  absolutely  ready.  He  would 
gladly  give  his  life  for  Aline,  would  he  not  also  gladly 
give  his  soul?  It  was  a  great  shock  to  his  naturally 
upright  nature  and  when  he  had  lied  to  Andrew  and 
told  him  that  he  was  going  to  make  his  way  south  on 
foot,  and  while  his  blood  boiled  with  shame  within  him, 
he  yet  welcomed  the  sacrifice.  "She  shall  have  my 
honour  and  my  good  name,  she  shall  have  my  soul  in- 
deed as  well  as  my  life.  Fate  may  crush  me  in  eternal 
torment  at  the  last  or  annihilate  me  altogether;  but 
Aline  must  escape  these  fiends;  she  must  live  to  be 
happy.  Sweet  little  child-heart,  who  never  did  any 
wrong  to  any  one  and  whose  short  life  has  been  so  sad 


TO  THE  RESCUE  301 

and  who  yet  has  only  been  sunshine  in  the  lives  of 
others,  why  should  she  be  cheated  out  of  her  due?" 

As  he  wrestled  with  himself  Jock  came  stumbling 
from  side  to  side  down  the  path,  babbling  incoherently. 
Ian  braced  himself  for  the  struggle  and,  as  the  man 
opened  the  door  and  entered  the  cottage,  Ian  stole  in 
after  him.  He  was  utterly  unprepared  and,  as  Ian 
leaped  upon  him  from  behind,  he  gave  one  wild  shriek 
and  collapsed.  Ian  tied  his  hands  and  feet  with  his 
own  cord  that  he  had  saved,  put  the  man  on  the  bed 
and  secured  the  key  of  the  stable. 

He  had  comparatively  little  difficulty  in  getting  out 
the  two  best  horses,  taking  the  precaution  of  tying  some 
sacking  over  their  hoofs  so  as  to  lessen  the  noise. 
Fortunately  the  wind  was  rising  and  a  storm  of  rain 
was  clearly  on  its  way. 

Before  leaving  he  fastened  a  note  at  the  stall-head : 

"I  require  these  horses  but  will  replace  them  when  I  reach 
Scotland.  Necessity  knows  no  law. 

One  in  great  need." 

He  took  the  horses  first  in  a  northerly  direction  as 
though  making  for  Scotland,  so  that  their  tracks  might 
throw  pursuers  off  the  scent.  Then  when  he  reached 
the  harder  road,  he  followed  it  only  a  little  way  and 
turned  back  south.  Finally  he  struck  over  the  high 
ground  to  the  west,  hoping  to  get  into  another  district 
altogether,  where  any  travellers  that  he  might  meet 
would  not  carry  any  description  to  the  neighbourhood 
of  Kirkoswald. 

It  meant  a  considerable  detour  and  the  inquisitors 
had  a  long  start  as  well ;  but  he  felt  so  certain  that  they 


302  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

would  rest  .somewhere  for  the  night,  that  he  felt  very 
little  alarm.  Shortly  afterwards  the  rain  came  down 
heavily  and  he  trusted  that  this  would  at  least  help  to 
obliterate  the  tracks. 


THE  UPPER  COURT 
SHOWING  TERRACE 
AND  TURRET-STAIR 
TO  ALINE'S  ROOM 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   DUEL   TO   THE   DEATH 

MEANWHILE  Aline  had  been  having  a  very 
unhappy  time.  She  was  practically  confined 
to  her  room  the  whole  day  long,  but  she  did 
come  down  for  the  mid-day  meal.  Master  Mowbray, 
strong  as  his  Catholic  sympathies  were,  not  only  resented 
the  interference  of  the  priests  in  his  house,  but  was  con- 
cerned at  seeing  the  child  look  so  starved  and  ill,  and 
therefore  he  had  insisted  on  this  much. 

It  did  enable  Aline  to  get  some  nourishment,  al- 
though she  only  had  bread  and  water  for  the  rest  of  the 
time,  and  it  did  make  a  slight  break  in  the  day,  for  she 
dared  not  use  the  secret  stair  except  when  every  one 
was  in  bed,  for  fear  of  any  one  coming  to  her  room  and 
finding  that  she  was  not  there. 

But  the  meals  were  anything  but  a  pleasure.  Master 
Mowbray  would  look  at  her  sorrowfully,  but  he  scarcely 
ever  said  anything,  and  Mistress  Mowbray  would  make 
cruel  biting  remarks  and  watch  the  child  wince  under 
them. 

Her  poor  little  soul  grew  very  sad  and  night  after 
night  she  would  cry  herself  to  sleep;  "If  only  Ian 
would  come — If  only  Ian  would  come." 

She  was  some  time  before  she  actually  grasped  that 
the  inquisitors  would  take  away  her  life;  but  one  day 

305 


306  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

when  Father  Ambrose  was  at  dinner  he  had  tauntingly 
asked  her  whether  she  had  repented  of  her  folly;  and 
then,  with  a  leer,  had  rubbed  his  hands  and  said: — 
''You  obstinate  minx,  they  are  coming  for  you  right 
soon  and  ah,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  see  your  long  hair 
shrivel  up  and  your  pretty  face  swell  and  burst  in  the 
fire." 

Aline  suddenly  realised  that  he  was  in  earnest  and 
for  the  moment  was  petrified  with  terror.  Then  she 
remembered  that  many  children  younger  than  she  had 
been  martyrs  in  the  old  Roman  days,  and  for  the  mo- 
ment there  was  a  revulsion  of  feeling  and  she  smiled 
to  think  that  she  was  worthy  to  suffer  death  in  the 
Master's  cause. 

Richard  Mowbray  had  not  realised  it  before  either, 
and  was  shocked  beyond  measure.  He  said  nothing  to 
his  wife,  but  decided  to  set  off  at  once  for  York  to  see 
the  Archbishop,  whom  he  knew  personally,  and  discover 
what  could  be  done. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  forbidding  Father  Ambrose 
entry  to  the  house;  but  he  restrained  himself,  as  that 
would  excite  suspicion.  He  was  accustomed  to  going 
away  suddenly  for  a  few  days  at  a  time,  so  that  his 
departure  that  very  afternoon  surprised  no  one.  He 
reckoned  that  it  would  take  him  at  least  a  week  and 
told  his  wife  not  to  expect  him  before  that  time. 

When  Aline  reached  her  room,  her  feelings  swung 
the  other  way  again.  "Why  should  she  die;  what  had 
she  done?  She  was  sure  that  God  would  not  wish  her 
to  die."  She  waited  till  night  and  crept  down  to  the 
secret  room.  She  did  not  often  do  this  even  at  night, 
as  although  there  was  a  good  store  of  candles  she  saw 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  307 

no  prospect  whatever  of  replenishing  it  and  was  afraid 
of  using  it  up. 

She  sat  down  on  the  oak  settle  and  tried  to  face  the 
situation.  If  the  inquisitors  came  she  must  try  some- 
how to  escape  and  the  incident  of  the  blue  hose  had 
suggested  that  she  should  do  so  in  the  garb  of  a  boy. 
She  rummaged  over  the  clothes  that  she  found  and  set 
to  work  to  put  them  in  order  and  adapt  them  for  her 
own  use.  She  chose  the  strongest  things  that  she  could 
find  and  during  the  next  few  nights  she  managed  with 
a  little  alteration  to  fit  herself  out  with  a  boy's  doublet, 
cote-hardie,  surcoat  and  a  pair  of  trunks.  She  found 
an  admirable  mantle  of  russet  cloth  that  only  required 
shortening  and  she  herself  possessed  a  pair  of  strong 
sad  coloured  hose. 

She  reckoned  that  it  would  not  be  possible  to  cut  her 
hair  before  her  escape;  so  she  prepared  three  hats,  one 
that  was  very  large  into  which  her  hair  could  be  put 
in  a  hurry,  a  medium  one  into  which  it  could  be  put 
if  very  tightly  twisted,  and  a  smaller  one,  that  she 
could  wear  with  her  hair  cut  short  to  the  ears. 

She  also  began  to  lay  in  a  store  of  provisions,  saving 
all  that  she  could  from  her  slender  allowance,  as  she 
judged  that  it  would  be  safest  to  spend  a  week  if  pos- 
sible, in  the  secret  room  until  the  first  hue  and  cry  had 
subsided,  if  she  should  have  to  make  the  desperate  at- 
tempt to  escape  alone;  but,  poor  child,  her  plan  was 
frustrated. 

It  was  very  cold  in  her  little  chamber,  so  she  had 
been  wearing  some  extra  clothing;  she  decided  therefore 
that  the  wisest  course  would  be  to  dress  exactly  like  a 
boy  and  wear  what  was  necessary  of  her  own  clothes 


308  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

on  the  top.  So  she  put  on  a  boy's  shirt  and  trunks  and 
stitched  points  to  her  hose  and  tied  them  to  those  on 
the  trunks.  Over  this  she  put  a  cote-hardie  and  then 
a  belt  with  a  dagger.  Above  this  again  she  wore  a 
girl's  longer  cote-hardie  and  above  that  again  a  short 
surcoat.  The  medium  sized  hat  was  made  of  silk  and 
the  finest  kersey  and  was  therefore  easily  concealed 
under  her  clothes.  It  had  a  full  silk  crown  and  a  brim 
turned  up  all  round  nearly  to  the  crown  itself,  with 
slits  every  three  inches,  giving  it  a  sort  of  battlemented 
appearance  with  the  crown  just  appearing  above  the  top. 
Old  fashions  still  lingered  in  the  North  and  Ian  had  had 
one  like  it,  which  he  said  resembled  one  worn  by  Prince 
Arthur  of  Wales.  She  was  helped  by  a  little  drawing 
which  Ian  had  made  for  her  when  they  were  talking 
about  the  well  known  portrait.  When  she  had  done  she 
felt  very  proud  of  her  handiwork  and  the  long  mirror 
was  a  welcome  joy  at  the  end  of  the  doleful  days.  She 
looked  out  a  sword  for  herself  and  practised  making 
passes. 

All  was  ready  four  days  after  Richard  Mowbray's 
departure  and,  three  days  later,  when  he  had  not  yet 
returned,  there  was  a  sudden  stir  and  noise  in  the  outer 
courtyard  while  they  were  having  the  mid-day  meal. 

"That  will  be  Walter  Hargrove,  I'm  thinking,"  said 
Mistress  Mowbray.  "They  always  seem  to  make  that 
man's  arrival  an  excuse  for  neglecting  their  work,  idle 
hussies  and  varlets  all  of  them ! ' '  She  rose  as  she  spoke 
and  went  out  into  the  screens.  Aline  followed  her. 

A  tall  priest  had  already  crossed  the  threshold. 
"May  I  speak  with  Master  Mowbray?"  he  said. 

"Master  Mowbray  is  away,  you  must  ask  what  you 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  309 

want  of  me.  Come  this  way,"  she  said,  and  stepped 
out  of  the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  screens,  so  as 
to  be  away  from  the  servants  and  Aline. 

"We  have  come,"  said  Father  Austin,  for  it  was  he, 
"with  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  a  heretic,  a  certain 
Aline  Gillespie;  see,  here  are  the  seals  thereon  of  Queen 
Mary  and  Bishop  Bonner  himself.  It  is  well  that  one 
be  careful  in  these  matters,"  he  said  smiling  grimly. 
"Some  would  be  content  with  lesser  signatures  and 
seals,  but  then  their  work  might  be  overset." 

They  had  been  strolling  toward  the  further  end  of 
the  quadrangle  and  were  nearing  the  entrance  to  the 
stair  that  led  to  Aline 's  room.  It  had  only  taken  an 
instant  for  it  to  flash  through  Aline 's  mind  that  the 
hour  had  come  and  it  was  now  or  never.  She  followed 
quietly  behind  them  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  slip  up 
the  stair  before  they  could  catch  her,  and  was  ready 
to  make  a  dash  as  they  turned. 

They  turned  just  before  reaching  the  door  and  Aline 
made  a  rush. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  child,"  said  the  priest,  stretching 
out  a  long  interposing  arm.  "Whither  away?  I  may 
want  speech  of  thee  shortly."  He  turned  with  a  look 
of  sanctimonious  triumph  to  Mistress  Mowbray. 
"Mother  Church  will  clean  your  house  of  its  vermin 
for  you,  madam,"  he  said. 

Aline  gave  one  little  gasp  of  mortal  terror  and  then 
stood  dumb  for  a  second  like  a  small  bird  caught  by 
a  beast  of  prey.  She  gave  one  appealing  look  toward 
Mistress  Mowbray  and  then  swung  round  facing  the 
dining  hall  and  paused  a  moment,  with  Father  Aus- 
tin's hand  still  on  her  shoulder. 


310  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"I  prefer  to  clear  my  own  house,"  Mistress  Mow- 
bray  said  icily.  She  disliked  the  man,  she  disliked  his 
interference.  He  could  not  have  said  anything  more 
foolish.  Aline 's  interference  had  been  outrageous,  but 
it  was  nothing  to  this;  at  least  the  child  was  one  of 
themselves.  Mistress  Mowbray's  wrath  raged  at  the 
insolence  of  this  outsider.  She  looked  again  at  Aline, 
delicate,  fragile,  ethereal,  and  the  thought  of  the  ap- 
pealing look  of  the  beautiful  child  at  last  thawed  her 
hard  heart.  ''What  if  ever  Audry  should  be  in  a  like 
plight?"  she  mused. 

All  this  was  in  a  flash,  as  she  turned  to  Aline  and 
looking  her  full  in  the  face,  said, — "Audry,  dear,  run 
and  tell  Silas  that  there's  a  ratcatcher  or  something, 
who  thinks  that  we  have  vermin  in  the  house  and  would 
like  a  job.  You  can  also  find  Aline  and  tell  her  that 
he  seems  to  like  catching  little  girls." 

Father  Austin  dropped  his  arm  at  the  name  of 
Audry ;  and  Aline,  though  puzzled,  ran  off  swiftly.  As 
Mistress  Mowbray  finished  her  sentence,  he  bit  his  lip; 
he  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

"Who  is  Audry,  madam?" 

"Audry  is  my  daughter,"  answered  Mistress  Mow- 
bray  with  her  chin  very  much  in  the  air. 

"I  thought  that  child  there  was  Aline  Gillespie,"  said 
the  priest. 

"So  it  was,"  said  the  lady,  calmly. 

"But  you  called  her  Audry,  madam,"  he  replied, 
"and  told  her  to  speak  to  Aline." 

"Did  I?"  she  said  with  well  feigned  surprise.  "You 
confused  me  so  with  your  peculiar  language. ' ' 

Meanwhile  Aline  ran  back  to  the  screens,  intending 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  311 

to  go  through  and  cross  the  lower  court  and  slip  out 
over  the  drawbridge.  She  might  reach  the  stream  and 
make  her  way  up  to  the  cave  before  any  one  clearly 
grasped  what  was  happening. 

But  when  she  came  to  the  further  door  she  was  met 
by  a  large  crowd  that  had  followed  the  inquisitors  and 
it  was  useless  to  try  and  make  headway  against  it;  be- 
sides she  saw  Father  Martin's  head  appearing  above 
the  rest  away  in  the  background. 

She  turned  back  again  with  the  head  of  the  crowd 
and  half  mechanically  picked  up  a  staff  that  was  stand- 
ing in  the  corner  by  the  door,  as  she  passed  into  the 
court.  She  pushed  her  way  past  two  men  who  were 
armed  with  swords  and  were  just  stepping  through  the 
doorway.  She  might  still  be  able  to  get  into  the  library 
and,  desperate  as  the  chance  was,  she  hoped  to  throw  them 
off  the  scent  by  breaking  a  window  before  going  down 
through  the  kist  to  the  secret  room. 

Father  Austin  was  still  standing  near  the  bottom  of 
the  stair  to  her  chamber.  That  way  was  closed;  so  she 
ran  toward  the  small  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  little 
terrace  in  front  of  the  library. 

"Seize  her,  Hubert,"  shouted  the  priest. 

The  big  burly  man,  addressed,  rushed  after  her. 
Aline  swung  round  suddenly  and  hit  him  unexpectedly 
with  her  staff  on  the  side  of  his  head  and  darted  on. 

The  man  gave  a  great  yell  and  the  crowd  roared  with 
laughter,  which  doubled  his  rage  and,  drawing  his 
sword,  he  dashed  again  in  pursuit.  Aline  was  fleet  and 
reached  the  library  door  before  he  was  half  way  across 
the  quadrangle. 

She  feverishly  grasped  the  handle. 


312  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Alas,  it  was  locked. 

As  she  turned  back,  Hubert  nearly  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  the  steps.  Four  more  paces  and  his  sword 
would  be  through  her. 

The  heavy  man  took  a  great  stride  half-way  up  the 
stair.  The  hunted  child  stood  at  bay. 

How  frail  and  slight  she  seemed;  only  a  delicate 
flower  ineffectively  beautiful.  The  crowd  stood  motion- 
less and  held  their  breath,  while  some  closed  their  eyes. 

Hubert  laughed  at  the  absurd  sight  of  the  child 
barring  his  way.  She  could  no  longer  hit  him  un- 
awares; he  was  armed  and  ready,  he  expected  nothing; 
when  Aline,  quick  as  lightning,  by  a  dexterous  turn  of 
her  staff,  twisted  the  sword  out  of  his  hand,  and  lunging 
forward,  caught  him  under  the  chin  with  her  full  force 
so  that  the  big  man  overbalanced  and  fell  backward 
down  the  steps,  stunned. 

Aline  stooped  and  picked  up  the  sword.  Hubert's 
fellow,  however,  was  close  behind. 

''Kill  her!"  shouted  Father  Martin. 

"Slay  the  witch,  Gilbert,"  echoed  Father  Austin. 

As  she  picked  up  Hubert's  sword  she  had  to  draw 
back  in  rising  and  Gilbert  was  already  up  the  steps. 
He  was  a  more  active  man  than  the  other,  but  he  had 
taken  in  the  situation  and  was  no  fool;  so,  child  as  she 
was,  he  advanced  more  cautiously. 

Poor  little  Aline  had  to  think  and  fight  at  the  same 
time.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Even  if  she  overcame  this 
man,  there  were  others;  obviously  she  could  not  fight 
them  all.  But  she  thought  of  a  faintly  possible  chance 
and,  before  Gilbert  closed  with  her,  gave  a  glance  across 
the  moat.  Could  she  cross  it?  As  she  glanced  she  saw 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  313 

a  sight  for  which  she  had  been  longing  all  these  weary 
weeks, — it  was  a  single  horseman  with  two  horses,  evi- 
dently making  his  way  toward  the  gully.  He  was  turn- 
ing to  look  back  at  the  Hall.  She  saw  no  more,  and 
straightway  began  a  very  pretty  bit  of  sword  play. 

Gilbert  proceeded  warily  and  foyne,  parry  and  coun- 
terparry  followed  with  monotonous  precision.  Aline 
kept  very  cool  and  at  first  attempted  little;  but  after  a 
short  time  she  tried  a  feint  or  so  in  order  to  test  him. 
She  soon  found  that  he  was  no  mean  swordsman;  but 
she  had  learned  much  from  Ian,  which  he  had  brought 
from  Italy  and  France ;  so  Gilbert  in  his  turn  discovered 
that  she  was  not  an  opponent  to  be  despised. 

He  reckoned  however  that  his  greater  strength  must 
tell  in  the  end  and  took  things  somewhat  easily.  For  a 
time  therefore  nothing  happened,  but  a  little  later,  after 
a  riposte  on  Aline 's  part,  Gilbert  made  a  counter-riposte 
and  just  touched  her  on  the  arm.  He  began  to  feel  his 
superiority  and  pressed  in  harder,  while  she  gradually 
drew  back  a  little  and  a  little  along  the  terrace. 

Gilbert  thought  that  he  was  slowly  mastering  her ;  but 
Aline  was  playing  for  her  own  ends  as  her  one  slender 
hope  was  to  let  him  wear  himself  out. 

The  crowd  by  this  time  were  spell-bound  and  even 
the  two  priests  were  overcome  by  the  fascination  of  the 
scene, — the  beautiful  agile  child  and  the  dexterous  but 
far  slower  swordsman.  The  silence  was  intense,  broken 
only  by  the  clash  of  the  swords. 

Gradually  they  neared  the  end  of  the  terrace.  It 
was  an  awful  moment  for  Aline.  The  man  was  ob- 
viously getting  tired,  but  she  shrank  from  trying  to  inflict 
a  severe  wound  and  he  was  far  too  skilful  for  her  to  dis- 


314  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

arm  him.  There  was  nothing  for  it,  however ;  and,  when 
almost  at  the  little  low  wall  at  the  terrace  end,  the  in- 
stinctive struggle  for  life  hegan  to  tell  and  the  fighting 
on  both  sides  became  more  serious. 

Aline  received  a  slight  scratch  on  her  left  shoulder 
and  this  settled  the  matter  and  nerved  her  to  a  supreme 
effort. 

As  he  lunged  again  she  parried,  made  a  riposte  with 
a  reprise  following  like  a  lightning  flash  and  swift  as 
thought  her  sword  was  through  his  heart  and  he  fell 
dead  on  the  pavement. 

The  crowd  gasped.  Aline  stayed  not  an  instant,  but 
leaped  upon  the  low  terrace  wall.  Standing  still  for  a 
moment  she  tore  her  outer  garments  from  her  and  stood 
there  like  a  lovely  boy,  save  for  the  great  flood  of  hair 
that  had  come  entirely  loose  and  that  was  caught  on 
the  windy  battlement  and  blown  like  a  cloud  high 
behind  her. 

Then  she  paused  and  turning  to  the  quadrangle 
thronged  with  people  she  said:  "How  dare  you  play 
the  cowards'  part,  setting  two  armed  men  to  attack  one 
small  girl?  God  will  punish  you,  Father  Martin,  and 
you,  too,"  she  said,  pointing  to  Father  Austin,  "and 
the  blood  of  the  slain  man  will  cling  to  you  and  remorse 
shall  tear  your  hearts.  I  am  only  a  child  and  it  is 
little  that  I  know,  but  I  do  know  that  there  is  no  love 
for  a  hard  heart  from  God  or  from  men. 

"And  you,  Elspeth,  Janet  and  those  I  love;  it  is  hard 
to  say  good-bye,  but  I  must  go." 

"Shoot  her,  shoot  her!"  shrieked  the  priests,  "she 
blasphemes,  she  takes  the  name  of  God  in  vain."  But 
the  angry  crowd  surged  round  the  guard  and  would  not 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  315 

let  them  move.  One,  however,  broke  loose  and  raised 
his  pistol;  but  as  he  did  so,  Aline,  to  the  utter  astonish- 
ment of  all,  still  holding  the  sword,  dived  into  the  moat. 

' '  Our  Lady  shield  thee,  St.  Aline, ' '  cried  a  voice  from 
the  crowd;  and  as  the  wall  was  too  high  to  see  over, 
except  from  the  terrace  itself,  they  swept  up  in  a  mass, 
the  priests,  the  people,  the  guards  and  all. 

A  few  strokes  took  her  over  the  water;  Ian  stooped 
and  seized  her  under  the  arms,  drew  her  out  of  the 
water,  lifted  her  on  to  the  one  horse,  vaulted  himself 
on  to  the  other  and  they  fled  like  the  wind. 

Shot  after  shot  then  rang  out  and  the  bullets 
whistled  only  too  alarmingly  near  them,  but  they  were 
soon  out  of  reach. 

"Mount  and  pursue,"  shouted  Father  Austin,  as  he 
stumbled  over  the  body  of  the  dead  man,  "and  take 
this  clumsy  loon  and  bury  him." 

"The  horses  are  tired,  we  need  fresh  steeds  for  that," 
said  one  of  the  guard. 

"Gramercy,  take  them  from  the  Hall,"  he  roared. 

But  no  one  would  find  the  keys  of  the  stable  and  Mis- 
tress Mowbray,  coming  up  a  moment  later,  said  in  acid 
tones,  "Take  your  own  horses,  Sir  Priest,  warrant  or 
no  warrant  you  cannot  steal,  and  if  you  touch  my  horses 
I  will  have  you  hanged  as  a  common  horse-thief. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  triumphantly,  the  exercise  of 
power  delighted  her  and  she  even  felt  a  glow  of  re- 
flected glory  from  Aline 's  achievement.  "We  know 
how  to  manage  these  interlopers,"  she  thought;  "I  am 
mistress  of  this  situation.  Aline,  you  have  done  very 
well." 

Father  Austin  looked  cowed,  and  the  sullen  people 


316  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

stood  in  the  way  and  blocked  the  road.  One  managed 
to  secure  a  stirrup,  another  broke  a  girth,  while  a  third 
removed  a  halter  altogether. 

"You  shall  suffer  for  this,"  said  the  priests,  when 
they  at  length  reached  the  horses;  but  the  attitude  of 
the  crowd  was  so  menacing  that  they  became  afraid  for 
their  very  lives  and  finally  had  to  fall  back  upon  en- 
treaty before  they  were  allowed  to  go  away  at  all. 

The  result  was  that  the  fugitives  had  two  full  hours 
start  on  good  horses,  before  Father  Austin  could  get 
his  little  troop  under  way. 

"Had  God  sent  a  deliverer  from  the  skies?"  mused 
Mistress  Mowbray,  as  she  sat  and  pondered  the  strange 
events  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  BIDE  IN   VAIN 

AS  Aline  and  Ian  rode  over  the  rough  ground  they 
kept  turning  back ;  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen. 
They  wondered  what  had  delayed  the  pursuit, 
but  felt  sure  it  would  come. 

The  snow  had  more  or  less  melted  and  the  day  was 
clear,  so  that  they  could  see  far  behind  them.  When, 
therefore,  they  reached  a  place  where  they  could  clearly 
see  two  miles  and  no  one  following,  they  slackened  pace, 
so  as  to  give  their  horses  every  chance. 

lan's  plan  was  to  swim  or  ford  the  swollen  river  at 
the  Weal,  the  long  pool-like  stretch  of  the  Tees, — and 
then  take  the  track  to  Garrigill.  His  present  anxiety 
was  to  keep  Aline  warm.  He  had  brought  away  two 
big  heavy  riding  cloaks  from  Andrew,  saying  that  he 
needed  to  be  warm  sleeping  on  the  hills.  One  of  these 
he  had  put  round  Aline,  but  she  was  at  first  very  cold. 
The  exercise,  however,  warmed  her  a  little  and  they  did 
not  dare  to  stop  until  they  had  put  the  river  between 
them  and  their  pursuers.  It  was  fortunate  for  them 
that  there  was  no  wind  and  that  the  day,  although  cold, 
was  bright  and  sunny.  The  hills  looked  hard  and 
colourless,  but  the  sunshine  seemed  to  conquer  the 
austerity. 

They  reached  the  river  and  negotiated  it  safely,  Ian 
taking  off  his  boots  and  lower  garments  to  keep  them 

317 


318  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

dry.  When  they  reached  the  other  side  Aline  un- 
dressed and  put  on  all  of  lan's  clothes  that  he  could 
take  off  and  they  wrung  out  hers  and  hung  them  where 
they  would  best  dry  with  the  motion  through  the  air. 

Ian  had  obtained  a  sword  and  two  pistols  from  An- 
drew, while  Aline  had  the  sword  with  which  she  swam 
the  moat. 

They  passed  through  Garrigill  without  mishap.  Ian 
was  particularly  nervous  of  their  being  caught  just  as 
they  reached  a  village,  lest  a  hue  and  cry  should  be 
raised  that  would  stop  them.  He  looked  anxiously  back 
when  they  neared  Alston,  but  no  one  was  in  view.  It 
seemed  best  to  make  no  attempt  to  keep  out  of  sight  by 
detours,  but  simply  to  press  on. 

Their  foes,  he  guessed,  would  probably  get  fresh 
horses  in  Alston.  Oh,  if  only  they  had  money  to  do 
the  same!  It  was  impossible  to  reach  Scotland  that 
night,  so  the  best  plan  seemed  to  Ian  to  be  to  rest  their 
horses  at  the  loneliest  part  of  the  road  beyond  Alston, 
where  they  could  be  concealed  themselves  and  at  the 
same  time  get  a  distant  view  of  the  road.  After  a  rest 
they  might  make  a  good  run  for  it,  as  the  day  was 
already  getting  on,  particularly  if  their  pursuers  can- 
tered their  horses  from  Alston  and  came  up  with  them 
at  all  blown.  Then  in  the  dark  the  best  thing  would 
probably  be  to  abandon  the  horses  and  escape  on  foot. 

They  did  as  he  had  planned,  and  after  they  had  rested 
an  hour  and  a  half,  during  which  time  the  horses  had 
some  oats,  Ian  saw  their  adversaries  about  a  mile  behind. 
There  were  six  of  them  and  they  had  been  badly  delayed 
getting  fresh  horses  in  Alston.  They  were  galloping 
rather  wildly  down  the  hill. 


A  RIDE  IN  VAIN  319 

Ian  held  his  hand  for  Aline  to  mount  and  then 
vaulted  into  his  seat  and  they  set  off  at  a  trot.  The 
others  saw  them  and  put  spurs  to  their  horses,  yelling 
as  they  rode. 

"Keep  cool,  not  too  fast,"  said  Ian,  "wait  till  they 
come  much  nearer." 

Slowly  their  pursuers  gained  upon  them,  but  Aline 
and  Ian  reserved  their  strength. 

A  mile  they  rode  and  the  interval  was  lessened  by 
a  quarter;  their  hearts  were  too  full  to  speak;  another 
mile  and  the  distance  was  again  less  by  a  quarter. 
Aline  looked  back :  ' '  Oh,  Ian !  We  shall  never  get  away, 
and  they  will  catch  you,  too.  I  wish  you  had  not  come 
to  rescue  me.  Do  you  think  'Moll  o'  the  graves'  really 
does  know  anything  about  what  is  going  to  happen?" 

"No,  little  heart,  but  do  not  be  afraid,  we  have  been 
helped  so  far.  I  think  we  shall  get  away." 

Another  mile's  ride  and  they  were  only  separated 
from  their  pursuers  by  a  quarter  mile. 

Ian  waited, — three  hundred  yards, — two  hundred, — 
one  hundred, — fifty.  "Now,"  he  said,  "let  them  go," 
and  both  riders  lashed  their  horses  and  the  distance 
began  to  lengthen  out  again  till  it  reached  three  or  four 
hundred  yards.  Three  of  their  pursuers  fell  behind 
altogether,  the  mounts  they  had  obtained  in  Alston  were 
not  equal  to  the  strain.  One  was  Father  Martin,  and 
it  would  have  made  Aline 's  ears  tingle  if  she  had  heard 
the  curses  heaped  upon  her  and  Ian. 

The  other  three  kept  together  for  a  time  and  then 
they  also  began  to  spread  out  a  little.  At  length  there 
were  forty  paces  between  the  first  and  second,  and  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  to  the  third. 


320  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

It  soon  became  clear,  however,  that,  though  they  need 
not  fear  the  third  horse,  both  the  other  two  would  ulti- 
mately be  a  match  for  them,  nor  would  it  get  dark  soon 
enough  for  them  to  escape.  Ian  kept  absolutely  cool, 
but  it  was  a  terrible  moment.  If  he  were  killed,  even 
if  Aline  did  escape,  who  in  the  wide  world  would  look 
after  her? 

When  the  nearest  horse  was  only  about  sixty  yards 
behind  he  said  to  Aline,  "Ride  on,  I  think  I  can  deal 
with  these  fellows,  but  I  wish  we  had  more  pistols, — 
two  shots  will  not  see  us  far.  Get  to  Carlisle  and  find 
Matthew  Musgrave.  I  doubt  not  he  will  smuggle  you 
away  over  the  border;  and,  if  I  come  not,  when  Walter 
Margrove  arrives  he  will  somehow  provide  for  you." 

"But  I  won't  leave  you,"  said  Aline.  She  looked 
at  him  so  beseechingly,  that  he  knew  it  was  useless  to 
say  anything. 

"Then  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you.  I  am  going  to 
stop ;  you  go  on  thirty  or  forty  paces  beyond  and  then 
stop  also.  Be  ready  to  dismount  if  necessary.  You  are 
a  good  swordswoman,  but  you  know  nothing  about  shoot- 
ing." 

Ian  then  reined  in,  turned  and  pointed  his  pistol  at 
the  leading  horse.  The  man  was  taken  aback  by  the 
sudden  move,  but  fired  wildly  as  he  rode  and  the  bullet 
whizzed  past  lan's  head.  It  was  only  a  matter  of 
seconds,  but  Ian  waited  to  make  quite  sure  and  then 
fired  at  the  horse,  which  fell  and  brought  its  rider  with 
a  horrible  crash  to  the  ground. 

The  second  horse  was  treated  in  like  manner;  but  its 
rider  saw  what  was  coming  just  in  time  to  slacken  his 
pace  and  leap  to  the  ground  as  the  horse  fell.  He  then 


A  RIDE  IN  VAIN  321 

fired  twice,  missing  the  first  time,  but  grazing  lan's  left 
side  with  the  second  shot. 

He  was  a  big  powerful  man  and  before  Ian  had  time 
to  step  back  and  mount,  he  was  in  upon  him  with  his 
sword.  Ian  had  time  to  draw,  but  found  that  the  man 
was  no  fool  with  his  weapon.  Time  was  precious,  too, 
for  the  third  horseman,  who  had  drawn  rein  for  a  mo- 
ment, was  now  advancing  and  would  be  upon  them  im- 
mediately. 

Aline,  who  had  seen  this,  dismounted  and  shouted: 
"Leave  him  to  me  and  load  your  pistols";  but  before 
she  could  reach  them,  lan's  sword  was  through  the 
man's  neck. 

Luckily  the  horses  stood;  but  he  had  only  time  to 
load  one  of  the  pistols,  while  Aline  mounted  again, 
before  the  third  man  arrived.  He  slowed  up  as  he  ap- 
proached and  attempted  to  fire  from  his  horse,  but  the 
pistol  only  flashed  in  the  pan  and  missed  fire.  Again 
Ian  brought  the  horse  to  the  ground,  and  as  the  man, 
who  was  not  seriously  hurt,  picked  himself  up,  Ian 
said ;  ' '  Well,  good-bye,  my  friend,  I  am  sorry  that  urgent 
business  prevents  our  waiting,"  and  springing  to  his 
saddle  he  galloped  off. 

Before  the  man  could  fire  they  were  some  distance 
away  and  the  bullet  went  hopelessly  wide. 

"That's  twice  I've  been  shot  in  three  days,  little  one," 
said  Ian.  "It's  a  mercy  these  fellows  cannot  shoot 
better." 

"Oh,  you  never  told  me  about  the  other,"  said  Aline, 
"and  you  must  wait  now  and  let  me  attend  to  this; 
the  blood  is  all  over  your  arm  and  down  nearly  to  your 
knee." 


322  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

''Indeed,  I  must  not,  sweet  child,  we  shall  soon  have 
the  rest  of  the  gang  after  us.  In  fact,  I  do  not  know 
what  to  do,  the  horses  are  completely  done  and  yet  it 
is  not  safe  to  put  up  anywhere.  Whatever  happens  we 
must  not  be  caught  in  a  town.  I  believe  it  would  have 
been  safer  to  have  waited  and  killed  them  all." 

Aline  shuddered.     "Oh,  how  awful." 

Ian  tore  a  piece  off  his  shirt  sleeve  and  stopped  the 
bleeding  of  his  wound  as  well  as  he  could,  and  they  rode 
on  in  silence  for  a  time,  till  they  came  to  the  place  where 
the  road  divided  for  Haltwhistle  and  Brampton.  The 
trees  grew  thickly  by  the  stream  and  it  was  getting 
dark.  "Let  us  hide  here,"  Ian  said.  "They  are 
unlikely  to  see  us  and  we  can  then  go  whichever  way 
they  do  not.  They  cannot  be  here  for  some  time,  so 
the  horses  can  again  get  a  feed  and  a  rest." 

They  piled  up  some  dead  leaves  where  two  fallen 
trunks  made  a  sort  of  shelter,  did  what  they  could  for 
lan's  wound  and  huddled  together  and  waited. 

At  last,  after  about  two  hours,  they  dimly  saw  three 
horses.  There  was  only  one  rider,  but  the  fugitives 
guessed  that  the  others  carried  the  dead  and  the  injured 
man.  Four  men  walked  beside  them. 

"I  can  hardly  move  another  step,"  they  heard  one 
of  them  say. 

"I  do  not  suppose  you  are  as  tired  as  I  am,"  said  a 
second  voice,  "besides  I  bruised  myself  pretty  badly 
when  that  devil  brought  my  horse  down.  I  shall  be  too 
stiff  to  move  to-morrow." 

"Well,"  said  a  third  voice,  which  both  recognised  as 
that  of  Father  Martin, — "This  kind  of  game  is  not  in 
my  line  anyway.  Ride,  ride,  it  is  nothing  but  ride. 


A  RIDE  IN  VAIN  323 

I  shall  be  too  sore  to  sit  down  for  a  week ;  when  on  earth 
are  you  going  to  bring  me  to  a  place  for  a  night's 
rest?  S 'death.  I  almost  feel  as  though  I  did  not 
care  what  happened  to  the  villains,  I  am  so  worn  out. 
That 's  three  of  my  men  dead ;  for  I  reckon  Philip  there 
will  never  speak  again.  Fancy  that  little  she-cat  kill- 
ing Gilbert." 

"That's  you,  Pussie,"  softly  whispered  Ian  in  her 
ear. 

"Well,  this  is  the  way  to  Haltwhistle;  that's  six  miles 
nearer  than  Brampton,"  said  one  of  the  other  voices, 
"and  they  are  more  likely  to  have  gone  there  to  put 
us  off  the  track.  Anyway,  we  can  get  men  over  to 
Brampton  soon  after  daylight." 

"Thanks  for  the  information,"  again  whispered  Ian. 

Gradually  the  voices  died  away  in  the  still  evening 
air,  and  finally  the  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs  also. 

"Thou  art  a  naughty  boy  to  whisper  like  that,"  said 
Aline. 

"Marry,  it  was  safe  enough  for  such  a  noise  as  they 
were  making." 

They  waited  a  little  longer  and  then  Aline  put  on 
her  own  clothes  which  were  now  quite  dry.  She  was 
also  going  to  cut  off  her  hair,  but  Ian  dissuaded  her ;  so 
she  braided  it  very  tightly  and  concealed  it  with  the 
bonnet. 

They  walked  by  their  horses  for  an  hour  and  then 
mounted  and  reached  Brampton  at  ten  o'clock  at  night. 
They  approached  the  small  hostelry  and  dismounted. 
"Can  you  give  my  page  and  myself  supper  and  a  night's 
lodging?"  Ian  enquired.  "The  horses  will  want  a  good 
rub  down,  too;  they  are  tired." 


324  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Whence  have  you  come  and  whither  bound?"  said 
mine  host. 

"We've  come  from  Alston  to-day  and  we're  bound 
for  Scotland  to-morrow.  But  show  us  a  seat  and  a 
fire,  this  is  no  time  for  talk." 

"Come  in,  then;  but  you  should  not  be  travelling 
to  Scotland  now;  there's  trouble  on  the  border  again 
and  you  may  fall  in  with  more  than  you  desired;  but 
it's  none  of  my  business." 

At  first  the  place  looked  empty;  but  there  was  a  boy 
curled  up  on  a  settle  and  fast  asleep. 

Ian  looked  at  him  and  to  his  surprise  it  was  Wilfred. 
He  hesitated  a  moment  before  waking  the  lad;  it 
seemed  unkind,  he  looked  so  comfortable;  but  it  might 
assist  toward  Aline 's  safety.  So  he  lightly  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder.  Wilfred  looked  up  and  rubbed  his 
eyes.  When  he  saw  who  it  was  a  look  of  pleased  sur- 
prise spread  over  his  face. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Will?"  said  Ian. 

"You  said  you  wanted  me  to  keep  a  look  out  for  you 
near  Brampton,  Master  Menstrie;  so  Matthew  and  I, 
finding  there  was  work  to  be  done  at  Naworth  Castle, 
have  come  over  here.  Matthew  is  lodging  at  a  house 
near  the  castle,  but  as  Master  Forster,  here,  is  a  friend 
of  Matthew's,  I  am  staying  with  him.  I  was  to  go  and 
help  Matthew  as  soon  as  we  had  news  of  you ;  but  I  have 
spent  all  my  time  on  the  road  for  some  days.  He  will 
be  so  glad  to  hear  you  have  got  back  again.  We  heard 
in  Carlisle  that  you  had  been  drowned,  but  I  knew  you 
were  a  great  swimmer  and  felt  it  could  not  be  true  and 
that  you  would  go  on  to  Holwick  as  you  said.  Did  you 
get  there?"  asked  the  boy. 


A  RIDE  IN  VAIN  325 

''Yes,  I  got  there  all  right." 

"And  what  did  you  do  about  the  little  lady?" 

' '  The  little  lady  is  safe  so  far, ' '  said  Ian,  ' '  and  Angus, 
one  of  the  pages  from  the  Hall,  is  coming  with  me  to 
see  if  we  can  make  arrangements  for  her  in  Scotland." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  she  is  safe." 

"The  boy,  Angus,  and  I  are  leaving  early  to-morrow 
for  Longtown.  If  those  rascals  follow  us  up  and  you 
get  a  chance  to  delay  them,  do  so.  A  loose  shoe  proved 
very  useful  before." 

William  Forster,  the  innkeeper,  brought  supper,  and 
Wilfred,  who  was  now  thoroughly  awake,  boylike,  was 
not  averse  to  sharing  their  meal. 

"There's  a  room  prepared  for  you  upstairs,"  said 
Forster.  "I  suppose  your  page  will  be  all  right  on  the 
other  settle?" 

"Yes,  that  will  do,"  answered  Ian.  "You  do  not 
mind,  little  one,"  he  whispered  softly  after  the  man 
had  gone.  "I  think  it  is  best." 

"Of  course  not,"  she  answered. 

After  the  meal  they  sat  by  the  fire  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  Ian  looked  across  at  the  two  boys,  as  they  seemed. 
Wilfred  was  immensely  better  in  health  and  had  en- 
tirely lost  the  half  starved  look.  "He's  certainly  a 
beautiful  lad,"  Ian  mused.  "They  make  as  fine  a  pair 
of  boys  as  Aline  and  Audry  were  girls.  I  must  paint 
those  two,  just  like  that,  if  ever  we  get  safely  through. 
I  wish  I  could  sketch  them  now." 

When  Ian  had  retired,  Wilfred,  who  was  fascinated 
by  his  companion,  tried  to  draw  her  into  conversation; 
but  she  was  very  reticent  and  pleaded  that  she  wanted 
to  go  to  sleep,  which  was  indeed  true. 


326  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"You  have  a  fine  master  now,"  said  Wilfred,  "even 
though  he  is  only  a  carpenter.  He  doesn't  look  like  a 
man  to  have  a  page  in  those  rough  home-spuns  of  his. 
But  you  are  lucky,  going  round  and  serving  him.  I 
wish  I  had  the  chance.  I  would  die  for  that  man." 

"So  would  I,"  said  Aline  quietly. 

"Then  I'll  love  you,  too,"  said  the  boy;  "but  you  are 
right,  we  must  go  to  sleep." 

In  the  morning  Wilfred  woke  early,  while  it  was  still 
quite  dark  and  roused  Angus,  as  Ian  named  Aline. 
"Go  you  and  wake  your  master,"  he  said. 

Aline  found  Ian  and  after  a  meal  they  took  lanthorns 
out  to  the  stable  and  prepared  to  start. 

Wilfred  helped  them  and  chattered  away  to  Aline, 
trying  in  every  way  to  lighten  her  share  of  the  labours. 

While  Ian  was  settling  the  score  Wilfred  took  Aline 
aside:  "Remember,  Angus,"  he  said,  "that  we  are  both 
willing  to  die  for  him;  and  if  ever  I  am  wanted  I  am 
ready.  He  risked  his  life  for  me  and  I  can  never  repay 
him." 

"Risked  his  life  for  you!  When?  I  never  heard 
of  it." 

Wilfred  looked  at  her.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  he 
never  told  you?" 

"No,  he  is  not  the  kind  that  would.  Oh,  I  should  like 
to  stay  and  hear  all  about  it!  But  I  must  not  wait, 
Master  Menstrie  will  be  wanting  me." 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  everything;  but  I  am  so 
glad  that  you  love  him.  I  am  sure  that  you  and  I 
would  be  great  friends, — very  great  friends ;  oh,  if  only 
I  could  go  with  you !  But  we  must  say  good-bye, ' '  and 
then  Wilfred  hesitated,  "I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  how 


A  RIDE  IN  VAIN  327 

it  is,"  he  said  shyly,  "I  sometimes  used  to  kiss  my  best 
friend,  Hugh,  when  there  was  no  one  else  near;  but 
boys  don't  kiss  much.  However,  we  two  shall  never 
meet  again  and  somehow  I  want  to  kiss  you." 

He  approached  her  a  little  awkwardly,  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  Aline  let  him  kiss  her. 

"Good-bye  again,  Angus,  I  shall  not  forget  you,"  he 
said. 

At  that  moment  Ian  returned  and  they  mounted  their 
horses  and  bade  farewell  and  rode  off. 

The  boy  stood  in  the  grey  dawn,  gazing  regretfully 
after  them  down  the  road.  Then  a  thought  struck  him. 
He  felt  puzzled.  "Why,  I  do  not  believe  that  was  a 
boy  at  all, — No,  I  am  sure  it  was  not.  It  must  have 
been  the  little  lady  herself.  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to 
think  of  it  before.  But  fancy  her  taking  a  kiss  from 
the  likes  of  me ! " 

They  had  hardly  disappeared  from  sight,  when  he 
heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  him  and  a  body  of 
armed  men  rode  down  the  street. 

"Good  morrow,  my  lad,"  said  their  leader,  "you  are 
up  betimes." 

Wilfred  had  decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  appear 
very  communicative  and  then  perhaps  they  would  not 
trouble  to  ask  any  one  else. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "there  have  been  some  silly  loons 
here,  who  did  not  know  what  a  good  thing  bed  is  on  a 
cold  winter  morning,  routing  me  up  to  look  after  their 
horses,"  and  Wilfred  half  turned  on  his  heel  as  though 
he  would  go  back  to  the  house. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  lad,"  said  the  leader,  "who  were 
they,  and  what  were  they  like?" 


328  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

' '  Oh,  there  were  two  of  them,  a  man  in  homespun  and 
his  page,  though  why  he  should  have  a  page  perplexed 
me  not  a  little.  Do  you  know  who  he  was,  good  sirs, 
I  should  like  to  know  the  meaning  of  it?" 

"That  is  not  your  concern,  lad;  come,  can  you  tell 
me  any  more?  Was  he  a  big  man?" 

"No,  he  was  about  middle  size;  but  very  well  built, 
with  deep  set  grey  eyes  and  a  fine  face." 

"Humph,"  grunted  the  horseman,  "deep  set  grey 
eyes,  yes;  to  the  devil  with  the  fine  face!  And  what 
about  the  other?"  he  added. 

"Oh,  he  was  a  pretty  slip  of  a  boy." 

"Were  they  armed?" 

"They  both  had  swords  and  the  man  had  pistols." 

"That's  they,  right  enough;  but  one  more  question — 
Where  did  they  come  from  and  where  are  they  going?" 

"They  came  from  Alston  and  arrived  very  tired  last 
night." 

"That  settles  it,  and  which  way  did  you  say  they  had 
gone  now?" 

"Oh,  they  set  off  along  the  Carlisle  road,  long  before 
it  was  light.  You  don't  want  to  find  them,  do  you? 
You'll  never  do  it  if  you  stand  talking  here;  marry, 
you've  got  your  work  cut  out  for  you  if  you  want  to 
catch  them." 

"Come  along,  men,"  said  their  leader. 

"They  must  be  pretty  well  in  Carlisle  by  now," 
shouted  Wilfred,  as  they  started  off.  "You  will  hardly 
doit." 

"To  hell  fire  with  them;  but  we'll  get  them  yet"; 
and  the  horses  thundered  down  the  road. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AMAZING   DISCOVERIES 

WILFRED  stood  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "I 
would  give  a  week's  pay  to  see  them  in  Car- 
lisle," he  chuckled. 

Meanwhile  Ian  and  Aline  gently  made  their  way 
along  the  road  to  Longtown  without  mishap.  They  saw 
a  small  body  of  troopers  once ;  but  the  troopers  took  no 
notice  of  them.  In  the  desultory  border  warfare  people 
went  about  their  business  practically  unconcerned. 
Life  had  to  go  on  and,  if  they  waited  till  there  was  no 
fighting,  to  all  intents  and  purposes  they  might,  in  those 
districts,  wait  for  ever. 

' '  What  are  we  going  to  do  when  we  reach  Scotland  ? ' ' 
Aline  asked,  when  at  the  last  it  appeared  that  imme- 
diate danger  was  passing.  "Old  Moll  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  right  this  time,"  she  added. 

"We  cannot  say  yet,  birdeen,  there  are  many  perils 
and  difficulties  ahead,  perhaps  greater  than  we  have  yet 
passed.  I  wish  I  could  shake  off  the  feeling  of  that 
woman.  It  is  not  that  I  believe  any  of  her  prophecies. 
Of  course  they  are  all  nonsense,  but  she  is  the  very 
incarnation  of  the  spirit  of  evil,  a  continual  oppressive 
reminder  of  its  presence  in  the  world.  There  is  no 
doubt,  too,  that  she  has  a  snakelike  inexplicable  influ- 
ence over  people  and  puts  evil  suggestion  into  their 

329 


330  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

minds,  just  as  some  other  people  have  exactly  the 
opposite  power.  To  talk  with  Moll  rouses  one's  worst 
nature ;  to  talk  with  some  rouses  one 's  best. ' '  He  looked 
at  Aline  and  thought  how  wonderful  her  power  was. 
What  was  this  power,  mysteriously  possessed  by  some 
natures,  that  almost  by  their  very  presence  they  could 
change  men's  lives; — Aline  and  Moll  might  themselves 
be  the  warring  spirits  of  good  and  evil. 

"My  only  object  for  the  moment,"  he  said  aloud, 
"was  to  rescue  you  from  your  desperate  danger.  I 
thought  that  then  we  might  have  time  to  think  out 
something.  There  are  difficulties  indeed;  the  country 
is  in  a  very  unsettled  condition,  partly  the  troubles  with 
England,  partly  the  religious  troubles  and  the  difficulty 
with  the  regent,  Mary  of  Guise,  and  France.  But  our 
first  trouble  is, — that  I  have  no  money  and  people  with 
no  money  always  find  it  hard  to  live,"  and  he  smiled 
a  rueful  smile. 

"Neither  have  I,'*  said  Aline,  "at  least  not  to  live 
on.  I  have  two  gold  pieces  with  me." 

"Well,  you  are  richer  than  I  am,"  he  said  playfully. 
"It  will  help  us  somewhat,  while  I  find  something  to 
set  us  going.  I  left  a  note,  too,  with  Wilfred  for  Wal- 
ter Margrove,  in  case  he  should  come  within  the  next 
few  days,  asking  him  to  send  Wilfred  to  Canonbie  with 
a  little  money  at  once  for  our  present  needs." 

"Wilfred,"  said  Aline,  "is  that  Will  Ackroyd?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ian,  "I  have  a  story  to  tell  you  about 
how  I  met  him,  but  we  must  leave  it  for  the  present.  I 
am  very  perplexed  about  this  matter  of  making  a  liveli- 
hood." He  paused  a  moment  and  then  continued; — 

"I  might  find  work  as  a  carpenter,  or  perhaps  there 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  331 

will  be  more  call  for  a  smith  in  these  turbulent  times. 
But  I  cannot  think  what  to  do  with  you.  Even  if  I 
found  some  people  with  whom  you  could  live  and  worked 
to  keep  you,  there  would  be  all  kinds  of  questions  as  to 
where  you  came  from  and  all  about  you?" 

"Then  why  not  let  me  work  with  you  as  carpenter's 
boy,  like  Will  does  for  Matthew  Musgrave?" 

"What!  and  spoil  your  beautiful  hands.  By  the 
way,  though,"  he  added,  "what  have  you  been  doing 
to  get  them  in  such  a  shocking  condition?  I  have 
noticed  it  all  along  but  my  mind  has  been  so  full  of 
schemes  and  plans  for  our  escape,  that  I  have  not  been 
able  to  talk  about  it." 

Aline  told  him  the  story  and  continued; — "Anyway, 
carpentry  could  not  be  as  bad  as  that." 

Ian  was  shocked  and  looked  at  her  thankfully.  "I 
trust  we  have  broken  the  evil  spell,"  he  said.  "But, 
princess,  you  are  a  lady  and  such  very  hard  work  is 
beyond  that  to  which  you  have  been  used." 

"Yes,  I  hope  I  am  a  lady  and  just  because  I  am  a 
lady  it  does  not  matter  what  I  am  used  to  do.  I  can 
turn  my  hand  to  anything;  I  do  not  mind.  It  is  only 
common  people  who  are  afraid  of  demeaning  themselves. 
I  have  often  noticed" — and  then  she  suddenly  stopped: 
— was  not  Ian  himself  one  of  these  "common  people," 
and  was  it  not  unmannerly  anyway  for  a  real  lady  to 
talk  like  that? 

"Noticed  what?"  asked  Ian. 

"Oh,  just  noticed  that  it  is  so,"  and  by  way  of  chang- 
ing the  subject  she  went  on, — "but  there  is  one  thing 
I  should  mind; — I  should  mind  having  to  cut  my  hair 
short." 


332  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

Ian  sighed:  "Yes,  you  must  not  do  that,  little  one, 
we  must  think  of  some  other  plan." 

"But  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  and  I  am  going 
to  cut  it,"  she  said  in  her  most  queenly  manner.  She 
said  it  so  firmly  and  cheerfully  that  even  Ian  did  not 
realise  the  struggle  that  was  going  on  in  the  little  heart. 

' '  "Well,  princess,  if  it  must  be  so,  it  must ;  but  you  need 
not  cut  it  above  the  shoulders.  Many  pages  wear  it 
down  to  the  shoulders." 

"Pages,  yes,  but  not  carpenters'  boys."  At  the  same 
time  lan's  words  gave  her  a  gleam  of  comfort.  That 
was  not  quite  so  terrible.  It  would  have  a  good  start 
as  soon  as  she  could  let  it  grow  again.  "Do  you  think 
a  carpenter 's  boy  could  wear  it  down  to  his  shoulders  ? ' ' 
she  asked  wistfully. 

"Certainly,"  said  Ian;  "it  might  be  a  little  peculiar, 
but  if  we  could  afford  to  dress  you  a  little  more  like 
a  page  though  you  were  a  carpenter's  boy,  I  doubt  even 
if  any  one  would  notice." 

They  had  reached  Longtown  by  this  time,  but  Ian 
decided  not  to  stop  if  they  could  get  safely  over  the 
border.  They  rode  on,  therefore,  until  they  met  a  small 
patrol  near  Canonbie  but  were  allowed  after  a  few  ex- 
planations to  pass. 

At  the  little  inn  they  made  enquiry  as  to  the  news 
of  the  day.  This  was  surprising,  but  to  Ian  by  no 
means  altogether  unexpected.  The  Protestant  feeling 
had  been  growing  and  some  of  the  Protestant  leaders 
had  met  at  the  house  of  James  Sym  in  Edinburgh  and 
signed  the  first  covenant,  called  the  "Godlie  Band." 
They  were  the  Earl  of  Ergyl ;  Glencarn, — the  good  Earl ; 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  333 

Mortoun;  Archibald,  Lord  of  Lome  and  John  Erskyne 
of  Doun.* 

But  what  was  of  immediate  interest  and  importance 
to  Ian  was  that  the  Earl  of  Hawickf  was  at  that  mo- 
ment raising  forces  in  the  border  shires,  nominally  to 
fight  on  the  border,  but  in  reality  to  be  ready  to  sup- 
port the  Protestant  cause  against  Mary  of  Guise. 

His  headquarters  were  but  a  few  miles  away  and  Ian 
wondered  whether  it  was  not  his  duty  to  throw  in  his 
lot  with  them.  His  own  feelings  on  the  whole  were 
friendly  to  England  and  he  hated  the  policy  that  the 
regent  was  pursuing  of  making  Scotland  an  appendage 
of  France,  but  if  English  marauders  invaded  the  border 
he  was  quite  ready  as  a  true  Scot  to  fight  against  them, 
although  it  was  the  religious  cause  that  he  had  more 
deeply  at  heart. 

"Methinks  I  ought  to  join  them,"  he  said.  "I  have 
seen  a  good  deal  of  fighting  in  my  day  and  I  might  be 
useful  to  the  cause." 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Aline. 

"Nonsense,  child,  girls  do  not  fight." 

"Joan  of  Arc  fought  and  why  should  not  I?"  she 
replied. 

"Joan  of  Arc  was  older  than  you  and  could  stand  a 
strain  that  would  be  quite  beyond  you,  little  one,  hardy 
as  you  are." 

"But  I  should  go  as  your  page  or  attendant.     "Would 

*  The  spelling  of  the  names  is  taken  from  a  surviving  copy 
of  the  covenant. 

f  This  is  a  fictitious  title  and  likewise  the  border  incident,  al- 
though there  were  several  such  affrays  in  this  year. 


334  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

you  fight  as  a  trooper  or  on  foot,  because  that,  of  course, 
would  make  some  difference  ? ' ' 

"That  would  remain  to  be  seen,  but  in  any  case  it 
would  be  absurd  for  you  to  be  there.  But  it  has  given 
me  a  new  idea,  sweet  child.  They  would  be  glad  of  my 
services ;  and,  as  they  are  protestants,  they  would  be  only 
too  pleased  to  look  after  you  in  return." 

"But  I  want  to  come  with  you." 

He  looked  at  her  sadly;  "It  is  out  of  the  question," 
he  said. 

' '  Oh,  but  please  let  me. ' ' 

"No,  birdeen,  you  might  be  killed." 

"Well,  that  would  not  matter.  I  have  no  friends  or 
relatives  in  the  world  to  care  for  me;  it  might  be  the 
simplest  solution  of  our  difficulties,  if  I  died  trying  to 
help  a  good  cause." 

' '  You  must  not  talk  like  that,  Aline ;  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  it." 

"But  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  I  am  coming.  You 
might  be  wounded  and  I  might  be  just  the  one  to 
help  you  and  prevent  your  dying."  She  drew  herself 
up  as  she  spoke  and  Ian  knew  that  further  argument 
was  useless. 

"In  that  case  we  can  wait  and  rest  here,  in  any  wise 
for  to-day,  the  which  we  both  need.  I  can  then  go 
and  see  the  Earl  to-morrow  and  probably  we  can  con- 
tinue to  rest  for  some  days  while  he  is  recruiting  his 
forces." 

They  retired  early.  Aline  had  a  little  room  with 
a  glorious  outlook.  Oh,  how  beautiful  everything  was 
and  how  good  God  had  been  to  her.  When  she  was 
half  undressed  she  sat  down  and  gazed  out  of  the  win- 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  335 

dow.  So  this  was  dear  Scotland  again,  the  land  of  her 
birth.  For  the  moment  the  recollection  of  "Moll  o'  the 
graves"  clouded  the  prospect,  but  it  passed  away.  The 
sombre  hills  looked  kindly  in  the  gloaming.  She  felt 
hardly  able  to  contain  herself  for  joy. 

It  was  true  that  she  was  about  to  face  new  dangers; 
but  that  did  not  trouble  her  in  the  least.  She  would 
be  definitely  doing  her  duty,  as  she  conceived  it,  fighting 
for  a  good  cause  along  with  many  others;  she  would  no 
longer  be  a  hunted  fugitive  merely  trying  to  preserve 
her  own  life. 

She  knelt  down  and  prayed  and  felt  happier  than 
she  had  done  since  her  father  died,  happier  even  than 
during  the  best  days  in  the  secret  room. 

So  happy  was  she  that  she  proceeded  to  cut  off  her 
wonderful  hair,  just  below  the  level  of  the  shoulders, 
without  the  slightest  twinge  of  regret.  "I  wish  I  had 
Audry's  long  mirror  here,"  was  the  only  thought  that 
troubled  her. 

Even  this  was  unexpectedly  gratified,  for  in  the  morn- 
ing she  was  down  first  and  discovered  a  long  mirror  in  a 
black  oak  frame,  one  of  the  treasures  of  the  hostel. 

As  she  was  looking  at  herself  Ian  appeared.  The 
sight  cost  him  a  pang.  "Oh,  child,"  he  exclaimed, 
' '  what  have  you  done  ? ' ' 

"I've  only  made  myself  into  a  real  boy,"  she  an- 
swered. 

Ian  bit  his  lips;  he  would  not  have  thought  that  he 
could  have  minded  so  much. 

As  they  were  standing  there  the  door  suddenly  opened 
and  a  boy  came  in. 

"Hullo,  Wilfred!  is  that  you?" 


336  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Yes,  master,  I  have  brought  a  letter  from  Walter 
Hargrove. ' ' 

Ian  took  the  letter  and  went  over  to  the  window  seat 
on  the  far  side  of  the  room  to  read  it. 

"Wilfred,"  thought  Aline;  "Wilfred";  it  had  a  fa- 
miliar sound  before,  when  Ian  used  the  name  on  the 
road : — and  he  came  from  Kirkoswald, — there  was  too  a 
tale  to  be  told  as  Ian  had  said, — and  Ian  himself  had 
been  using  an  assumed  name.  Could  it  by  any  chance 
be  the  boy  of  little  Joan 's  sad  story  ? 

He  held  out  his  hand  bashfully,  and  bent  his  head. 
As  Aline  took  it  he  said; — "I  humbly  crave  your  pardon, 
but  I  believe  now  I  know  who  you  are. ' ' 

Aline  blushed  and  then  she  said  quietly,  "You  have 
probably  guessed  rightly.  Whom  do  you  think  I  am?" 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment.  How  could  there  pos- 
sibly be  any  doubt;  there  could  not  be  two  such  beau- 
tiful people  in  the  world;  and  he  had  heard  Walter 
and  Andrew,  besides  Ian,  allude  to  her  unparalleled 
loveliness.  "You  are  Mistress  Gillespie,"  he  said,  and 
bowed  awkwardly. 

Aline  smiled  sadly.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  and  I 
believe  I  have  just  discovered  who  you  are.  Your  name 
is  not  really  Ackroyd,  is  it  ? " 

"Yes,  Mistress,  it  is,"  he  answered. 

Aline  looked  baffled,  but  he  continued, — "However, 
I  have  never  been  known  as  Ackroyd,  as  I  lived  with 
an  Aunt  whose  name  was  Johnstone." 

"I  thought  so,"  she  replied  softly.  "Come  sit  over 
here,  for  I  have  a  sorrowful  tale  for  you." 

She  took  his  hand  and  the  boy  followed,  lost  in  won- 
der and  admiration. 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  337 

"I  used  to  know  poor  little  Joan,"  she  said  very 
gently. 

"Yes,  Mistress,  I  had  guessed  as  much;  we  heard 
in  Kirkoswald  what  had  happened,"  and  the  boy's  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  "I  know  that  you  did  everything  for 
her  that  could  be  done  and  that  she  loved  you." 

Aline  felt  relieved,  as  she  was  spared  the  worst  part 
of  her  task.  "She  often  used  to  speak  of  you,  Wil- 
fred, and  before  she  went  away,  she  gave  me  her  great- 
est treasures  which  you  had  given  her  long  before; 
and  I  was  to  try  and  return  them  to  you.  But,  alas,  I 
had  to  flee  from  armed  men  at  a  moment's  notice  in  peril 
of  my  life  and  I  have  them  not.  But  they  are  safe  and 
one  day  I  will  fulfil  my  charge." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  ' '  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you, ' ' 
she  said,  "but  my  words  are  too  feeble  to  say  what  I 
feel." 

The  tears  were  now  running  freely  down  the  boy's 
face,  he  took  her  hand  in  both  his  and  smothered  it 
with  kisses.  "Oh,  Joan,  Joan,  my  little  Joan,  how  can 
I  bear  it?  How  can  you  really  be  dead  and  I  alive? 
Why  is  the  world  so  cruel?  Oh,  Joan,  if  only  I  could 
have  died  for  you." 

Aline  bent  over  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 
"She  told  me  to  give  you  that,"  she  said;  then,  after 
a  pause,  she  went  on; — "I  am  only  a  little  girl  and  I 
do  not  pretend  to  understand  things,  Wilfred.  But 
think,  if  you  had  died  as  you  have  been  wishing,  poor 
little  Joan  would  have  been  as  unhappy  as  you  are  now. 
These  things  are  a  mystery  and  yet  somehow  I  feel  that 
the  spirit  of  light  in  its  own  way  and  its  own  time  must 
triumph  over  the  spirit  of  darkness.  I  have  always  felt 


338  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

that ;  and  now  that  I  have  my  new  faith,  I  am  more  sure 
of  it  than  ever." 

"I  do  not  see  how  that  can  be,"  said  Wilfred,  "and 
yet  as  you  speak  I  seem  to  feel  better. ' ' 

"I  do  not  understand  it  myself,"  said  Aline,  "but  I 
have  been  right  before." 

Wilfred  looked  at  her.  Had  this  wonderful  child 
with  the  strange  deep  dark  blue  eyes  some  power  that 
other  mortals  had  not? 

"Angus,"  said  lan's  voice  from  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  "Walter  has  sent  us  some  money;  he  also 
offers  to  help  us  in  every  way  he  can,  and  there  are  some 
other  items  that  will  interest  you  about  the  rumours  he 
heard  in  Carlisle.  They  seem  to  think  we  rode  through 
Carlisle  and  went  to  Penrith  or  Keswick.  I  have  writ- 
ten a  short  note  to  Walter,  which  Wilfred  can  take  back. 
Did  you  come  in  the  night,  Will?" 

"Yes,  I  got  a  lift  on  an  empty  wagon  going  back  to 
Longtown.  There  was  straw  in  the  bottom  and  I  slept 
all  the  way." 

"I  am  afraid  7  could  not  sleep  in  a  wagon,"  said  Ian. 
"Come  and  join  us  at  our  meal,  Wilfred." 

They  had  their  meal  and  afterwards  sat  and  talked 
until  it  was  time  for  Wilfred  to  return. 

After  he  had  gone,  Aline  and  Ian  set  off  to  the  camp 
where  the  Earl  of  Hawick  lay.  When  they  arrived  Ian 
asked  if  he  might  see  the  Earl,  as  he  wished  to  offer  his 
services. 

The  sentry  looked  at  him  very  dubiously  and  then  at 
Aline,  after  which  he  seemed  a  little  more  satisfied,  as 
she  was  better  dressed.  Finally  he  called  the  officers 
of  the  guard,  who  subjected  them  to  a  similar  scrutiny. 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  339 

"I  think  I  can  see  to  your  business,  my  man,"  he 
said. 

"Thank  you,  I  have  a  special  message  for  my  lord 
of  Hawick,"  said  Ian. 

Aline  started  at  the  tone  and  looked  at  Ian:  there 
was  a  quiet  hauteur  about  it  that  she  had  never  heard 
before. 

The  man  seemed  to  notice  it  too.  "Who  is  it  that 
wishes  to  see  the  Earl?"  he  said. 

"Say,  Ian  Menstrie,  son  of  Alexander  Menstrie;  that 
will  do." 

Aline  felt  a  little  nervous;  as  she  had  never  met  a 
real  Earl  and  had  something  of  the  child's  imagination 
about  the  grandeur  of  such  personages. 

The  officer  returned  very  quickly,  but  the  change  in 
his  manner  seemed  almost  to  make  him  a  different  man. 

"Your  Grace,"  he  said,  bowing  very  low,  "the  Earl 
of  Hawick  is  coming  at  once. ' ' 

"I  said  Ian  Menstrie,  not  Alexander  Menstrie,"  an- 
swered Ian,  looking  a  little  annoyed. 

"Yes,  your  Grace,"  said  the  Messenger,  "I  made  it 
quite  clear;  the  Earl  of  Hawick  understands." 

Aline  was  very  puzzled,  they  seemed  to  have  strange 
customs  of  address  in  the  army,  but  before  she  had  time 
to  think  the  Earl  appeared.  She  was  a  little  disap- 
pointed. Was  that  an  Earl?  He  was  a  fair  figure  of 
a  man,  but  was  neither  as  handsome  as  Ian  nor  had  he, 
she  suddenly  thought,  as  she  looked  at  the  two  men,  the 
dignity  of  lan's  carriage. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again,  your  Grace,"  he  said, 
doffing  his  bonnet  and  bowing  as  the  officer  had  done. 
"You  are  the  very  man  we  want.  I  shall  never  forget 


340  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

how  well  you  managed  on  that  miserable  day  at  Pinkie 
Cleugh ;  and  Scotland  can  never  repay  you  for  the  rout 
of  Lord  Wharton  on  the  Western  Marches  on  that  cold 
February  day.  It  was  a  sorry  remnant  that  he  and 
Grey  took  back  with  them,  and  it  marked  the  turning  of 
the  tide.  Our  country  was  indeed  at  a  low  ebb  then. 

"Of  course  you  will  share  the  command  with  me.  I 
would  willingly  serve  under  you,  but  these  are  my  fel- 
lows and  they  know  me;  so  I  shall  just  follow  your  ad- 
vice. On  my  honour,  you  shall  have  all  the  glory,  when 
it  is  over ;  not  that  you  used  to  care  much  for  that  kind 
of  thing,  and  you  were  really  only  a  lad  then. ' ' 

Aline 's  eyes  grew  rounder  and  rounder.  Ha  wick 
continued, — "I  heard  the  news  of  the  old  man's  death 
about  a  week  ago.  It  was  somewhat  of  a  shock  fol- 
lowing so  soon  after  your  brother's;  but  I  said,  that 
will  bring  Ian  Menstrie  back  to  us  if  anything  will.  I 
am  sure  he  will  throw  in  his  lot  with  us." 

Aline  gasped.  Who  was  Ian  then,  this  carpenter-man, 
as  she  had  thought  him?  Even  in  the  earlier  days  she 
had  never  supposed  that  he  could  be  more  than  a  younger 
son  of  one  of  the  lesser  lairds. 

Ian  seemed  overcome  and  very  sad.  "Well,  my  Lord, 
if  you  must  know, ' '  he  said  in  as  calm  a  voice  as  he  could 
muster,  "I  am  here  by  accident.  I  have  just  had  a 
run  for  my  life,  with  my  young  page  here,  Angus  Gilles- 
pie.  I  am  looking  rather  a  sorry  object,  but  let  that 
pass.  I  had  not  heard  of  my  father's  death,  or  even  of 
my  brother's.  It  is  a  terrible  shock." 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Hawick,  "I  am  sorry  to  be  the 
bearer  of  bad  news  and  you  are  looking  a  sad  wreck. 
You  must  take  as  many  days'  rest  as  we  can  manage." 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  341 

"Before  I  forget,  I  want  to  know  if  you  can  let  us 
have  a  couple  of  horses;  these  are  not  mine  and  I  want 
to  return  them  to  the  owner.  I  also  wish  to  know  if  you 
can  spare  a  couple  of  troopers  to  take  them  back  to 
Kirkoswald.  They  can  arrange  the  matter  at  Carlisle." 

"Are  they  English  horses?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Fancy  returning  English  horses  across 
the  border,  when  once  you  have  got  them  here.  Well, 
you  always  were  a  strange  fellow.  Yes,  you  can  have 
as  many  troopers  as  you  please,  and  horses  and  any- 
thing you  want." 

Aline  was  very  impatient  to  have  Ian  by  himself  and 
was  glad  when  he  turned  to  go,  after  giving  a  brief  ac- 
count of  his  imprisonment  and  the  outline  of  his  main 
adventures,  avoiding  all  details. 

The  Earl  accompanied  them  to  the  inn  and  then  took 
his  leave,  promising  to  send  Ian  an  outfit  such  as  more 
became  his  station  and,  at  lan's  special  request,  every- 
thing that  under  the  circumstances  could  be  procured  be- 
fitting a  page  of  gentle  birth. 

Aline  was  pleased  to  find  no  one  in  the  hostel.  Ian 
was  tired  and  his  wounds  hurt  him,  although  Aline  had 
attended  to  them  regularly.  He  sat  down  by  the  fire 
and  sighed. 

It  was  a  cold  day  and  Aline  crouched  at  the  hearth- 
stone by  his  feet.  She  put  her  hand  on  his  knee  and 
looked  up.  lan's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Aline  had 
never  seen  anything  like  this ;  she  stood  up,  stroking  his 
head  with  her  delicate  hand  and  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  drew  her  gently  to  him.     The 


342 

child  threw  both  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  seated 
herself  on  his  knee.  * '  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  comfort  you, ' ' 
she  said. 

It  was  too  much  for  Ian  and  two  great  tears  actually 
rolled  down  his  cheek.  "My  Father,"  was  all  that  he 
said.  Then  making  an  effort,  he  controlled  himself 
and  looked  at  Aline 's  beautiful  sympathetic  little  face. 
A  curious  feeling  passed  through  him.  He  had  lost 
his  father;  and  his  father  had  never  been  kind  to  him, 
and  he  had  gained  this  child,  who  was  devoted  to  him. 
Was  this  God's  recompense? 

He  passed  his  fingers  through  her  short  locks. 
"What  have  you  done  with  all  the  glory  you  cut  off?" 
he  said. 

"It  is  upstairs.     I  plaited  it  in  four  plaits. ' ' 

"May  I  have  some?"  he  asked. 

"You  may  have  it  all  if  you  like." 

"It  was  a  big  sacrifice,  child-heart,"  he  said  softly, 
and  kissed  her. 

"May  I  ask  you  something,"  she  said,  "even  though 
it  does  make  you  sad:  but  I  would  rather  learn  from 
your  own  lips?  You  know  you  have  not  told  me  who 
you  are.  Who  are  you?" 

He  paused  a  moment,  while  he  continued  gently 
stroking  her  hair.  "  I  am  now  the  Duke  of  Oehil,  little 
one." 

Aline  rose  from  his  knee  and  crouched  down  on  the 
hearth  again.  She  gazed  up  at  him  wonderingly.  In 
after  years  as  she  looked  back  she  understood  her  feel- 
ings; but  at  the  time  they  were  a  perplexity  even  to 
herself.  So  far  from  being  pleased  that  he  was  a  duke, 
she  resented  it.  It  seemed  to  put  a  barrier  between 


AMAZING  DISCOVERIES  343 

them; — his  Grace,  the  Duke  of  Ochil,  could  not  be  the 
same  as  her  dear  friend  Ian. 

Ian  saw  the  expression  on  her  face  and  half-guessed 
its  meaning.  "It  does  not  please  you,  heartsease,"  he 
said. 

She  looked  up  quickly  and  then  said  simply, — "I  do 
not  know.  It  is  strange." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   BATTLE   OF   LIDDISDALE 

THE  days  slipped  by  and  when  Hawick  had  mus- 
tered two  thousand  foot  and  some  300  horse  he 
decided  to  move  northward  up  Liddisdale. 
The  Duke  of  Ochil  nominally  commanded  the  cavalry, 
but  was  really  the  guiding  spirit  of  the  whole. 

Angus,  that  is  Aline,  acted  as  Ochil's  page  or  squire 
and  was  soon  very  highly  in  favour  with  all  the  offi- 
cers. She  was,  however,  very  uncommunicative  and 
kept  herself  to  herself,  the  which  she  found  much  easier, 
in  that  there  was  a  reserved  hauteur  about  Ian  when 
dealing  with  those  that  were  at  all  his  equals,  which 
he  never  displayed  when  dealing  with  inferiors.  At  the 
same  time  every  one's  respect  for  him  was  very  marked 
and  his  power  over  the  men  was  immense.  This  new  as- 
pect of  his  character  interested  Aline  not  a  little. 

There  had  been  rumours  for  some  time  of  a  gathering 
for  an  English  raid  upon  Scotland  and  early  on  the 
morning  of  the  third  day  after  leaving  Canonbie,  their 
scouts  brought  word  of  the  presence  of  an  English  force, 
three  thousand  strong,  that  had  moved  up  the  Tyne  from 
Bellingham. 

Before  setting  forth,  the  Duke  of  Ochil  spoke  a  few 
words  of  encouragement  to  the  men.  "It  may  seem," 
he  said,  "that  neither  on  their  side  nor  on  ours  are 

344 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIDDISDALE  345 

there  enough  to  make  our  encounter  of  great  moment, 
yet  is  there  more  in  the  balance  than  that  of  which 
ye  may  be  in  any  wise  aware.  Our  country  is  in  the 
hour  of  her  trial  and  a  little  thing  may  decide  the  final 
outcome.  On  the  one  hand  there  is  France  and  on 
the  other  hand  there  is  England,  both  eager  to  swallow 
her  up.  Yet  are  there  greater  issues  than  this, — not 
only  is  the  freedom  of  our  bodies  at  stake,  but  the  free- 
dom of  our  souls  and  not  only  of  our  souls  but  of  those 
of  mankind. 

"Our  host  is  small  and  our  deeds  may  be  obscure; 
yet  though  fame  is  not  likely  to  be  ours,  that  which  we 
do  this  day  may  well  be  the  foundation  of  greater  things 
and  by  our  blood  we  may  purchase  liberty  of  conscience 
throughout  the  whole  world.  No  deed  is  ever  so  small 
as  to  be  of  no  account  and  if  we  play  the  coward  it 
may  be  the  small  beginning  that  shall  bring  upon  the 
nations  an  avalanche  of  woe. 

"It  is  for  the  higher  that  we  strive, — for  all  that  is 
noblest  in  man  against  all  that  is  low.  Yea,  I  know 
that  many  of  you  here,  yourselves  forget  the  glory  of 
our  destiny,  zealous  though  ye  be  within  your  lights. 
Yet  it  is  the  fight  of  enlightenment  against  darkness. 
It  is  truth  and  development,  love  and  beauty  against 
all  that  is  narrow  and  stagnant,  false  and  ugly.  And 
if  victory  be  with  us,  see  how  great  is  the  charge  upon 
us  that  we  ourselves  do  not  fall  short  of  our  high  en- 
deavour. 

"I  have  said  that  our  host  is  small  and  our  deeds 
must  be  small  likewise,  and  yet  it  is  not  a  little  thing 
that  I  ask  of  each  individual  man.  I  ask  all  that  ye 
have,  I  ask  your  lives.  Nor  do  I  presume  to  say  that 


346  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

the  Lord  is  on  our  side,  but  I  do  say  that  if  each  do  act 
according  to  his  conscience,  while  putting  aside  all  preju- 
dice and  all  bitterness  of  heart  that  might  narrow  that 
conscience,  it  is  not  for  us  to  fear  the  issue.  Yea,  as 
far  as  our  minds  may  discern,  we  fight  for  God  and  our 
country. ' ' 

So  he  spoke,  and  there  went  up  a  great  shouting, 
"For  God  and  for  our  country." 

It  was  a  still  cold  day  and  the  very  air  seemed  tense 
with  the  issues  involved.  Aline 's  heart  beat  with  ex- 
citement, yet  she  was  surprised  how  calm  she  felt. 
"Surely  I  am  af eared,"  she  said,  "and  yet  I  am  full  of 
gladness  and  am  ready  to  give  my  life,  as  Ian  has 
asked."  She  rode  upon  a  grey  charger  carrying  the 
banner  of  Ochil  which  she  had  hastily  made  at  Canon- 
bie  with  her  own  hands; — azure,  a  fesse  between  three 
crescents  argent.*  Ian  lacked  Aline 's  happy  disposi- 
tion, and  looked  troubled,  but  his  resolution  to  do  or  die 
was  no  whit  less  determined. 

The  English  cavalry  were,  as  usual,  immensely  su- 
perior in  numbers,  and  while  the  Scots  forces  were 
forming  their  line,  they  hoped  to  press  the  advantage 
by  a  charge,  which  at  the  same  time  should  cover  the  ad- 
vance of  their  own  infantry  deploying  out  of  the  valley. 

The  Scots  were  in  two  ranks,  with  the  reserves  below 
the  crest  of  the  hill,  every  front  man,  the  butt  of  his 
pike  against  his  right  foot  and  the  point  breast  high, 
the  while  those  behind  crossed  their  pike  points  with 
those  forward.  Ian  held  his  horsemen  back  on  the  right 
flank,  while  the  bowmen  were  on  the  left. 

*A  blue  field  divided  horizontally  by  a  broad  silver  band;  two 
silver  crescents  above  and  one  below. 


347 

The  enemy  charged  swiftly  over  the  haugh,  their  gay 
pennons  a-flutter  on  their  lances,  a  brave  sight  to  see. 
And  as  they  came  they  shouted; — "Down  with  the 
heretics ;  come  on,  ye  coward  loons. ' ' 

"For  God  and  our  country,"  the  Scots  replied,  as 
the  wave  of  Southrons  hurled  itself  upon  the  bristling 
pikes,  only  to  break  and  scatter  as  many  a  man  of  that 
goodly  host  met  his  doom. 

Ian  taking  them  at  a  disadvantage  led  the  Scots' 
horse  in  a  counter-charge  and  menacingly  they  thun- 
dered over  the  plain,  so  that  despite  his  smaller  force 
he  drove  them  behind  their  own  lines  and  numbers 
more  of  the  English  bit  the  dust  and  among  them  the 
Lord  of  Almouth,  their  leader,  a  noble  and  brave  youth 
who  received  a  lance  thrust  in  his  side  and  fell  to  earth 
gripping  the  soil  with  both  his  hands  in  the  agony  of 
death.  And  many  a  gay  Scots  gallant  lay  on  the  ground 
between  the  hosts  and  the  corbies  gathered  in  the  air 
watching  for  their  time  to  come. 

Then  for  a  while  the  battle  fell  to  those  on  foot  and 
furiously  they  fought  and  many  doughty  deeds  were 
done  on  either  side  that  day.  But  terrible  was  the 
slaughter,  as  neither  party  would  yield  the  advantage 
to  the  other;  and  the  shouting  of  the  fighters  mingled 
with  cries  of  the  wounded,  and  ever  and  anon  there 
boomed  the  roar  of  the  artillery  in  the  which  the  Eng- 
lish had  the  better  of  the  Scots. 

The  fight  was  stubborn  and  Aline 's  mood,  at  first  all 
eager,  now  gave  place  to  one  of  dread,  the  light  began 
to  fail  and  a  voice  within  the  air  seemed  to  whisper, 
"Whensoever  the  day  goes  down,  the  spirits  of  dark- 
ness will  gather  for  your  destruction  and  then  it  will 


348  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

be  too  late."  She  even  thought  she  saw  "Old  Moll" 
stalking  through  the  battle-field  and  gloating  over  the 
slain. 

The  battle  wavered  from  side  to  side  and  at  length 
it  seemed  for  the  Scots  as  though  all  were  lost.  They 
had  sadly  given  way  and  at  the  direst  moment  of  their 
need  the  Earl  of  Sanquhar,  a  man  of  great  valour  and 
a  tower  of  strength,  was  shot  by  an  English  archer  and 
the  arrow  went  in  at  his  throat  and  pierced  right 
through  his  neck  and  he  fell  forward  speechless  and 
the  dark  mist  clouded  his  eyes.  Then  the  Scots  wavered 
and  fell  back  still  more  and  the  end  seemed  come  and 
had  it  not  been  for  the  Earl  of  Hawick  himself,  they 
would  have  been  utterly  worsted.  He  rushed  into  the 
fray  and  heartened  the  wavering  host  and  they  made  a 
great  onset  and  the  battle  stayed  not. 

Yet  did  the  cannon  of  the  English  work  sore  havoc 
in  the  Scottish  ranks,  whensoever  they  were  not  in  close 
combat,  and  the  Duke  of  Ochil  came  to  the  Earl  and 
said ;  ' '  My  Lord  of  Hawick,  I  will  endeavour  to  capture 
them  and  we  may  even  turn  them  on  our  foes." 

He  spoke  and  Aline  followed  hard  after,  and  he  led 
his  men  behind  the  hill  to  the  other  flank  and  then 
made  as  he  would  charge  the  footmen  on  the  English 
right.  But,  as  he  came  near  to  them,  he  swerved  and, 
passing  round,  he  advanced  to  the  mouths  of  the  guns, 
and  left  and  right  his  men  fell  on  either  hand  and 
their  souls  fled  from  them;  but  Aline  rode  safely  at  his 
side. 

And  they  came  right  over  against  the  gunners  and 
one  of  them  did  shout  lustily  and  swing  his  rod  over 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIDDISDALE  349 

the  Duke  and  would  have  felled  him  to  the  earth  had 
not  Aline  driven  the  point  of  her  long  sword  through 
his  mouth  even  as  he  shouted,  and  he  fell  backward  and 
was  trampled  under  foot,  while  the  rod  fell  harmlessly 
upon  the  saddle  bow,  and  the  rest  turned  to  flee  but 
were  cut  down  and  not  a  man  of  them  escaped. 

"Thou  art  indeed  the  good  angel  of  my  destiny,"  said 
Ian;  but  he  spake  not  more  at  that  time,  as  the  fight 
was  heavy  upon  him. 

Then  were  the  English  guns  turned  upon  the  English 
host  and  fear  got  hold  of  them,  brave  men  though  they 
were,  for  that  they  were  taken  behind  and  before;  and 
as  they  shook  and  hesitated  the  Duke  with  the  two  hun- 
dred that  were  left  to  him  charged  toward  them  from 
the  rear.  And  Aline  went  ever  at  his  side. 

But  the  English  horse  made  haste  to  come  at  him 
from  far  on  their  own  right,  and  take  him  in  flank, 
or  ever  he  closed  with  those  on  foot.  And  as  the  Eng- 
lish foot  turned,  some  this  way  toward  the  Scottish 
horse,  and  some  that  way  toward  the  Scottish  foot,  a 
mighty  shout  arose  in  the  Scottish  ranks  as  they  closed 
with  the  English;  "Now  are  they  delivered  into  our 
hands/'  and  they  waxed  ever  more  terrible  till  con- 
fusion fell  upon  the  men  of  England  and  the  half  of 
them  broke  and  fled  and  thus  hindered  the  more  part 
of  their  own  horsemen  from  coming  at  the  Duke. 

So  he  fell  upon  the  other  half  and  victory  came  on  a 
sudden  into  his  hands;  for  all  the  English  were  now 
in  flight  and  the  left  wing  of  their  horse  that  would 
have  taken  the  Duke  in  flank  fled  also. 

And  as  he  thanked  God  for  his  triumph  he  looked 


350  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

back  and  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  shuddered  and  his 
breath  stood  still,  for  Aline  was  no  longer  to  be  seen,  in 
that  the  grey  horse  had  gone  down  at  the  last. 

As  he  gazed  his  head  swam  and  darkness  came 
over  him.  Victory  was  his,  but  Aline  was  lost.  He 
calmed  himself  and  held  his  spirit  in  check  and  even 
as  the  wind  races  over  the  hills,  his  thoughts  passed 
through  him.  "The  enemy  is  scattering  on  every  side. 
My  work  for  my  country  is  done  and  therefore  may  I 
now  turn  to  that  which  concerneth  my  own  life." 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  let  slip,  the  remnant 
of  the  right  wing  of  the  foemen's  horse  was  still  un- 
broken, and  although  too  late  now  to  effect  their  pur- 
pose, yet,  if  so  be  that  Aline  were  still  alive,  they  would 
pass  over  the  very  ground  where  she  must  be  lying  or 
ever  a  man  might  run  thither,  however  swiftly  he  sped. 

He  swung  round  and  galloped  apace,  and  there,  dead 
upon  the  earth,  was  the  grey  horse,  and  by  it,  on  the  side 
next  the  foe,  lay  stretched  the  fair  slim  page  still  clutch- 
ing the  banner  with  the  silver  fesse. 

"Surely  it  will  be  my  own  death,"  he  said,  as  the 
horsemen  bore  down  upon  him.  For  an  instant  the 
thought  unnerved  him,  but  natheless  he  was  at  her  side. 
"What  matter,"  he  cried,  "the  day  is  won,  my  work  is 
done,  and,  Aline  dead,  of  what  avail  is  life  to  me?" 

He  leaped  from  his  horse.  It  was  too  late ;  even  now 
they  were  upon  him ;  he  might  not  lift  her  to  the  saddle 
and  bear  her  away. 

"Can  I  not  break  the  tide  with  a  barrier  of  slain 
steeds?"  he  said.  Then  swift  as  the  lightning  flashes 
in  the  heavens,  with  his  right  arm  he  swung  her  over 
her  own  dead  horse,  while  with  his  left  he  raised  a  fallen 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIDDISDALE  351 

pike.  He  leaped  back  and  kneeled  before  the  horse, 
gripping  the  pike  full  firmly,  whose  butt  rested  on  the 
ground,  while  with  his  right  hand  he  drew  forth  a  pistol 
from  his  holster. 

On  they  came,  they  towered  into  the  sky,  the  air  was 
filled  with  their  shouting  and  the  thunder  of  their  hoofs. 
A  single  man !  They  heeded  him  not. 

He  fired,  and  the  horse  that  would  have  trampled  him 
fell  low.  Neck  and  croup  over  it  rolled  upon  the  ground 
and  the  horse  behind,  that  strove  to  leap  above  it,  re- 
ceived the  pike  in  its  heart,  while  Ian  narrowly  avoided 
destruction  under  the  falling  mass. 

Then  as  a  stream  meets  a  boulder  in  its  course  and 
straightway  divides  on  either  hand,  so  passed  the  war- 
riors on  the  left  and  right. 

The  rider  of  the  first  fallen  horse  lay  in  the  throes 
of  death,  but  the  second  rushed  upon  him  with  his  sword 
so  that  the  Duke  had  but  scant  time  to  draw  and  defend 
himself,  and  the  sword  cleft  the  Duke's  helm  and  the 
wound  was  deep. 

Yet  it  was  no  long  time  they  fought,  for  with  swift 
skill  the  Duke  drove  his  sword  throughout  his  body  and 
he  fell  with  a  loud  cry  to  the  ground,  stretching  his 
arms  to  heaven,  and  Ian  drew  out  the  steel  and  with 
the  blood  the  life  rushed  forth  and  black  night  covered 
his  eyes. 

But  Ian,  even  as  he  did  so,  turned  to  where  Aline 
lay,  her  face  all  white  amid  the  ruddy  gold.  He  leaned 
above  her.  She  was  not  dead,  nor  even  sorely  hurt,  but 
stunned  and  dazed  and  cut  about  and  bruised. 

He  raised  her  with  great  tenderness  and  bore  her 
from  the  scene  of  carnage  just  as  the  evening  fell.  A 


352  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

cold  breath  blew  upon  his  face  and  he  fancied  he  heard 
a  voice  that  hissed — "Woe's  me,  we  are  foiled;  it  is  on 
us  the  blow  has  fallen,  even  ere  the  darkness  came. 
Too  late,  too  late."  At  that  moment  the  sun  sank  and 
the  light  vanished  behind  the  hills.  The  rout  was  now 
complete.  Here  and  there  a  few  individuals  made  stand 
against  their  pursuers,  while  little  groups  of  wounded 
men  were  crying  for  succour.  The  haugh  was  littered 
with  so  many  corpses  of  those  who  had  gone  forth  that 
morning  in  the  healthful  beauty  of  their  youth,  that 
it  was  a  sight  most  grievous  to  behold.  Ian  stumbled 
with  his  burden.  He  himself  had  been  twice  sadly 
wounded  again.  Whither  should  he  go  ?  There  were  no 
houses  in  sight. 

He  remembered,  however,  that  the  house  of  the  Laird 
of  Dalwhinnie  was  only  about  two  miles  away.  There 
was  nowhere  else  to  go,  but  both  the  new  wounds  and 
the  old  were  exceeding  sore  and  it  was  with  great  diffi- 
culty that  he  carried  her. 

He  bore  her  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  and  summoned  four 
troopers,  and  with  their  assistance  mounted  a  horse. 
He  would  not  let  any  one  else  touch  the  child  and,  ac- 
companied by  the  troopers,  he  rode  to  the  house. 

The  laird  was  not  a  protestant,  but  Ian  was  graciously 
received  and  offer  was  made  to  accommodate  as  many  of 
the  wounded  as  possible. 

"You  had  liever  pay  special  attention  to  those  poor 
English  varlets,"  said  Ian.  "There  will  be  few  to  give 
them  heed." 

The  Lady  smiled  a  sad  smile  and  led  the  way  to  a 
beautifully  appointed  room.  "Your  Grace  has  a  won- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIDDISDALE  353 

drous  fair  child  with  you,"  she  said.     "I  marvel  not  at 
your  care  for  him.     Is  he  sore  hurt  ? ' ' 

"I  trust  not,"  said  Ian,  as  he  laid  Aline  gently 
down.  He  dared  not  let  any  one  help  him,  lest  Aline 's 
secret  should  be  discovered;  so  he  dressed  her  wounds 
himself  and  put  her  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  BIRTHDAY   PARTY 

AFTER  the  battle  the  Earl  of  Hawick  disbanded 
the  greater  part  of  his  forces,  retaining  but  a 
small  nucleus  in  case  it  should  be  necessary  to 
bring  military  aid  to  the  party  of  Argyle  and  Glencairn 
in  support  of  their  covenant  against  the  regent.  With 
this  small  force  he  moved  northward.  The  Duke  was 
far  too  sore  hurt  to  travel  and  neither  he  nor  Aline  were 
able  to  move  for  some  time. 

As  soon,  however,  as  they  could  sit  a  horse  they  set 
out  for  the  Castle  of  Menstrie,  where  they  arrived  in 
due  course  and  were  most  warmly  welcomed  by  the 
Duchess  of  Ochil  and  her  daughter  Shiona,  who  had 
been  anxiously  awaiting  lan's  return  after  they  first  re- 
ceived news  of  his  arrival  in  Scotland. 

His  mother  was  overjoyed  to  see  him  and  he  briefly 
told  her  the  story  of  the  child.  When  he  had  finished 
she  kissed  Aline  and  said,  "You  poor  sweet  thing,  now 
at  last  you  have  reached  a  haven  of  rest  and  you  must 
count  me  as  your  mother  as  far  as  I  can  be  one. ' ' 

Aline  had  not  before  felt  shy  of  her  boy's  clothes,  but 
the  gentle  courteous  lady  made  her  long  for  her  own 
things  and  she  blushingly  began  to  apologise. 

"You  need  not  distress  yourself,  dear  child,"  said 
the  Duchess;  "we  can  soon  remedy  that.  Indeed  you 
look  very  pretty  and  you  make  so  graceful  a  page  that 

354 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  355 

you  need  not  regret  your  present  garb,"  she  added 
kindly  and  stooped  and  kissed  her  again.  "We  shall 
just  make  you  one  of  ourselves  and  you  have  only  to 
tell  us  what  you  want.  For  the  present  we  can  send 
over  to  Stirling  and  get  everything  that  you  absolutely 
need  this  very  day." 

In  the  evening,  as  they  were  all  sitting  by  the  fire, 
the  Lady  of  Ochil  leaned  over  and,  taking  lan's  hand, 
said:  "I  have  some  sad  news  for  you,  my  boy.  You 
know  that  the  estate  was  very  sadly  impoverished  when 
your  father  succeeded.  But  he  has  been  extravagant 
and  your  eldest  brother  was  the  same,  and  always  bor- 
rowing from  him.  Worst  of  all,  your  brothers  induced 
your  father  to  make  over  to  them  during  his  lifetime, 
all  the  estates  that  he  could.  The  regent,  too,  has  al- 
ready shown  her  hostility  on  your  succession.  It  is  a 
very  long  story;  but  you  will  have  little  but  the  title 
and  the  small  original  estates  round  the  Castle.  Even 
those  are  so  burdened  that  I  doubt  whether  we  can  con- 
tinue to  live  here." 

"Do  not  mind,  Mother,  about  me.  I  never  expected 
anything,  and  so  I  shall  not  miss  it;  it  is  for  you  that 
I  am  sorry.  You  will  feel  the  change  so  much." 

"No,  my  son.  I  am  so  glad  to  get  you  back  that  I 
mind  nothing." 

Aline  rose  from  where  she  was  and  sat  down  again 
on  the  floor  at  lan's  feet.  "I  am  so  sorry  for  you," 
she  said,  and  once  more  she  had  that  curious  kind  of 
feeling  that  she  had  noticed  before.  She  was  very  sorry 
for  Ian;  but  was  she  altogether  sorry  for  the  fact  in 
itself?  Did  it  not  in  some  way  bring  them  closer  to- 
gether ? 


356  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

lan's  sister,  Shiona,  had  always  worshipped  her  sec- 
ond brother;  he  was  unto  her  as  a  god,  and  as  she 
watched  Aline  it  rather  amused  her  to  see,  as  it  were, 
herself,  over  again,  in  the  way  that  the  child  contin- 
ually hovered  round  him.  She  was  the  youngest  of  the 
family,  and  now  a  tall  slim  girl  of  seventeen.  She  felt 
curiously  shy  of  Ian,  as  she  had  not  seen  him  for  sev- 
eral years.  He  still  looked  very  young ;  but  he  was  now 
the  head  of  the  house  in  her  father's  place. 

She  soon  fell  under  Aline 's  spell  and  the  two  girls 
became  fast  friends.  Except  in  appearance  and  phy- 
sique Aline  was  much  in  advance  of  her  age ;  and  her  re- 
cent experiences  had  matured  her  view  of  life.  The 
girls  occupied  the  same  room  and  were  continually  to- 
gether when  they  could  not  be  with  Ian.  Ian  some- 
times felt  even  a  little  touch  of  envy;  he  had  come 
to  regard  Aline  almost  as  though  she  specially  belonged 
to  him. 

It  was  a  time  of  considerable  trouble  and  anxiety, 
both  in  public  and  private  affairs,  yet  it  was  a  very 
happy  household  in  spite  of  all  their  troubles  and  diffi- 
culties. Ian  was  very  slow  in  recovering  his  strength. 
Excitement  had  carried  him  through,  but  the  collapse 
was  all  the  more  severe  when  it  came.  For  two  months 
he  could  move  but  little;  however,  he  gradually  began 
to  be  able  to  take  short  strolls  out  of  doors. 

Even  before  this  he  had  set  his  mind  to  see  what 
could  be  done  to  save  the  remnant  of  the  estates.  Rigid 
economy  had  to  be  practised,  for  he  was  determined  that 
property  that  had  been  in  the  family  for  hundreds  of 
years  should  not  go  if  possible.  Unfortunately  only  a 
small  portion,  even  of  the  fragment,  happened  to  be 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  357 

protected  by  entail.  Consequently  he  found  it  nec- 
essary to  reduce  the  fragment  still  further  by  selling 
two  estates  that  had  been  acquired  by  his  grandfather. 
They  were  so  heavily  burdened  that  the  margin  was 
very  small,  but  it  enabled  him  to  prevent  the  fore- 
closure of  his  most  pressing  creditors.  All  the  retain- 
ers and  servants  were  dismissed  except  one  serving  man 
and  a  maid,  the  horses  were  sold  and  the  castle  was 
all  shut  up  except  the  hall,  the  library  and  a  few  bed- 
rooms. The  arras,  the  plate  and  everything  of  value 
except  the  heirlooms  were  sold.  The  only  thing  Ian 
retained  was  a  famous  sword,  given  to  him  by  the  Regent 
Arran  for  his  services  against  the  Lords  Wharton  and 
Grey.  It  was  of  immense  value,  magnificently  jew- 
elled. He  took  it  out  and  looked  at  it.  No,  he  could 
not  part  with  that.  It  was  too  full  of  association  and 
interest. 

The  household  arrangements  were  simplified  to  the 
barest  necessities.  The  girls  did  the  housework  and 
Ian  himself,  when  necessary,  assisted  the  serving  man. 
He  wore  the  simplest  homespun  and  his  sister  dressed 
as  plainly  as  possible.  Ian  refused  to  allow  his  mother 
to  wear  the  things  that  the  rest  of  them  did,  because, 
he  said,  they  all  had  the  future  before  them  in  a  way 
that  she  had  not. 

She  smiled  and  kissed  him,  and  assured  him  that  she 
would  be  quite  happy  whatever  she  wore,  as  she  had 
her  dear  son  back  again,  and  she  chaffingly  impressed 
upon  him  that  it  was  still  long  before  she  would  be  an 
old  lady. 

Aline  absolutely  insisted  on  wearing  things  that  even 
Mistress  Mowbray  would  not  have  provided,  both  gowns 


358  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

and  body  linen.  But  they  were  beautifully  made  by 
Shiona  and  herself,  and  although  the  material  was 
coarse,  the  general  effect  was  always  charming.  She 
succeeded  in  getting  some  frieze  in  excellent  shades  of 
green  and  brown,  that  made  most  pleasing  colour  com- 
binations with  the  brownish  white  of  the  full  sleeves 
and  skirt  of  her  coarse  dowlas  chemise,  and  the  rich  red 
of  her  glorious  hair. 

The  result  of  the  new  Duke 's  efforts  was  that  he  gained 
the  respect  of  every  one ;  and  two  of  his  largest  creditors 
came  to  him  one  day  and  not  only  said  that  they  would 
not  press  for  payment,  but  offered  to  lend  him  more  at 
a  much  lower  rate  of  interest.  This  offer  he  accepted 
and  paid  off  a  number  of  smaller  creditors,  who  lived  at 
a  distance  and  did  not  know  what  was  going  on. 

After  a  few  months  he  brought  things  into  such  a  con- 
dition that,  though  he  saw  no  prospect  of  being  anything 
but  poor  all  his  life,  he  hoped  to  leave  the  property  in 
a  fairly  sound  condition  when  he  died. 

There  was  one  little  extravagance  that  he  had  deter- 
mined to  allow  himself.  Aline 's  thirteenth  birthday 
took  place  in  April  and  he  resolved  that  she  should  have 
the  happiest  day  of  her  life,  if  human  means  could  ac- 
complish it.  He  pondered  for  a  long  time  how  it  was 
to  be  done;  because  he  regarded  the  property  rather 
as  a  trust  than  in  any  way  his  own.  At  last  he  be- 
thought him  of  the  sword.  That  at  least  was  his  own. 
It  was,  it  was  true,  his  most  cherished  possession;  but 
he  would  part  with  it.  He  took  it  out  one  evening 
and  fingered  it  fondly.  Truly  it  was  beautiful  and  the 
only  relic  of  his  early  youth.  Other  things  might  be 
replaced,  but  that  could  not.  Moreover  it  would  be  a 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  359 

joy  forever,  whereas  a  day's  pleasure  was  soon  gone  by. 
"  'Sdeath.  How  could  he  think  such  things?"  He 
hated  himself.  So  he  resolutely  shut  the  case  and 
turned  the  key.  "What  was  a  sword  compared  with 
Aline 's  happiness?" 

He  had  to  take  his  sister  into  his  confidence,  as  he 
wanted  Aline  to  have  a  complete  outfit  for  the  occa- 
sion, and  this  Shiona  was  to  arrange  unknown  to  her. 
Ian  took  the  sword  to  a  goldsmith  in  Stirling,  but  the 
man  did  not  like  to  take  it,  the  sword  was  so  well  known 
and  considered  as  one  of  the  local  marvels.  At  last 
he  persuaded  Ian  to  let  him  lend  him  the  value  of  the 
sword,  allowing  a  year  in  which  it  could  be  redeemed. 
Ian  gave  the  man  a  few  commissions  to  execute  for  the 
great  occasion  and  departed. 

Everything  was  planned  with  all  secrecy  and  Aline 
was  not  told  about  it  till  two  days  before,  when  a  num- 
ber of  persons  arrived  to  put  the  old  place  into  order. 
The  old  rooms  were  thrown  open  and  cleaned,  the  arras, 
that  had  been  sold,  was  temporarily  replaced  by  other 
fine  specimens.  Sconces  with  hundreds  of  candles  were 
brought  and  the  floor  and  the  furniture  and  the  metal- 
work  was  polished  till  all  shone  like  a  mirror.  The  old 
heirlooms,  including  the  magnificent  nef  *  and  other 
gold  and  silver  plate,  which  Ian  could  not  sell,  but  which 
had  been  put  away,  were  brought  out. 

The  beautiful  old  castle  had  never  looked  finer.  Serv- 
ing men  and  maids,  pleasantly  attired,  were  every- 
where at  hand.  There  was  a  new  costume  for  every  one. 
lan's  was  of  very  simple  material,  but  he  looked  won- 

*  A  gold  or  silver  centre  piece  for  the  table  made  in  the  shape 
of  a  ship. 


360  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

derfully  handsome  when  he  met  Aline  on  the  morning 
of  the  great  day. 

"I  have  a  very  nice  present  for  your  birthday,  prin- 
cess," he  said,  stroking  her  hair,  "but  it  will  be  rather 
a  shock  at  the  same  time,  so  you  must  prepare  yourself 
for  it.  I  have  been  thinking  that  you  need  a  lady's 
maid,"  he  went  on,  laughing,  "and  I  have  succeeded  in 
finding  you  one." 

"Marry,  I  need  no  lady's  maid,"  she  replied,  some- 
what puzzled  at  the  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "and  you  must 
not  think  of  such  a  thing.  I  prefer  to  look  after  my- 
self. I  am  not  a  grand  lady  and,  even  if  I  were,  I  would 
rather  not  have  one.  I  am  sure  I  should  not  like  her." 

"I  am  sure  you  would,"  said  Ian,  "and  in  any  wise 
you  must  try  and  like  her,  because  I  insist." 

"You  must  not  tease  me,  your  Grace,  I  really  do  not 
want  one." 

"I  will  not  be  called  'your  Grace,'  pussie,"  he  said, 
gently  pulling  her  hair. 

"Well,  if  you  get  me  a  lady's  maid,  I  shall  call  you 
'your  Grace'  and  then  we  shall  all  be  grand  together." 

"But  I  have  gotten  her  already.  I  heard  of  her  in 
a  curious  way  in  a  letter  from  Walter  Margrove,  but  I 
kept  it  as  a  surprise  until  I  could  get  hold  of  her." 

' '  Oh,  but  really,  Ian,  I  do  not  want  her, ' '  Aline  pro- 
tested. "I  should  hate  her.  Yes,  by  my  troth,  I 
should,"  and  she  looked  genuinely  distressed. 

"You  would  not  hate  this  one,"  he  replied  a  little 
sadly ;  "it  is  some  one  that  you  know.  But  I  must  not 
tease  you." 

"Do  you  mean  Audry?"  she  asked  doubtfully. 

"That  would  not  be  a  shock,  sweet  child.    No, — here 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  361 

she  is."  He  then  beckoned  to  some  one  out  of  sight 
through  the  open  door;  and  a  slim  girl  of  nearly  twelve 
came  shyly  forward  and  stood  hesitatingly  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

Aline  gave  a  little  startled  glance  and  then  looked  at 
Ian,  who  smiled  reassuringly.  "0  Joan,"  she  cried, 
"they  told  me  you  were  dead." 

"I  was  very  ill,"  said  the  child,  louting  low,  "but 
I  was  not  dead,  Mistress  Aline;  it  was  the  little  girl 
that  came  from  Barnard  Castle,  who  died,  whom  Mis- 
tress Ellen  Allen  had  sent  to  Durham  from  Teesdale  too, 
much  in  the  same  manner  that  you  sent  me." 

"But  how  did  the  mistake  happen,  Joan,  and  why  did 
you  not  let  me  know?" 

"The  woman  that  was  looking  after  me  died,  and  I 
was  taken  to  Newcastle.  I  was  ill,  oh,  so  ill  for  a  long 
time  and  I  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  when  I  heard, 
I  could  not  for  long  enough  get  any  one  to  write  for 
me  and  then,  at  last,  I  was  told  that  you  had  disap- 
peared. When  "Walter  Margrove  heard  about  it  he 
looked  me  up  in  Newcastle  and  then,  some  time  after,  he 
told  me  that  I  was  to  go  into  service  with  the  Right  Hon- 
ourable Sir  Ian  Menstrie,  Knight  of  the  Most  Noble 
Order  of  St.  Michael,  Lord  Duke  of  Ochil  and  Earl  of 
Strath  Allan,  and  I  was  so  frightened." 

Ian  could  not  control  himself  and  the  child  had  to 
pause  while  he  laughed.  "Whoever  put  all  that  into 
your  head  ?  Never  mind,  you  can  forget  it, — just  go  on. ' ' 

' '  It  was  Walter  Margrove,  your  Grace,  and  he  told  me 
not  to  be  afeared,  as  I  should  find  some  one  that  I  knew. 
But  it  was  not  till  I  came  here  last  night  that  I  knew 
who  it  was  and,  oh,  Mistress  Aline,  I  heard  what  you 


362  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

were  saying  just  now  and  you  will  not  hate  me  really, 
will  you?" 

"No,  Joan,  no,  I  will  never  hate  you  and  indeed  I 
am  so  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  much  better";  and 
Aline  flung  her  arms  round  the  child's  neck  and  kissed 
her,  while  tears  of  joy  stood  in  her  eyes. 

For  a  time  the  children  forgot  everything  but 
themselves  and  Ian  stood  and  watched  them  in  their 
perfect  happiness.  Aline  was  very  much  taller  than 
Joan  and  in  contrast  with  the  frail  delicate  child  looked 
like  a  goddess  of  strength.  Joan  clung  to  her  in  ecstatic 
abandon  and  gazed  into  those  wonderful  ultramarine 
blue  eyes  as  though  they  were  the  windows  of  heaven. 
"I  never  knew  before  what  it  was,"  she  said,  "to  be 
perfectly  happy.  Mistress  Aline,  I  think  the  old  folk 
at  Holwick  were  right.  You  cannot  be  a  child  of 
ordinary  flesh  and  blood  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"Hush,  Joan,  you  must  not  talk  like  that,  and  I  told 
you  long  ago  that  you  must  not  call  me  Mistress  Aline. 
But,  oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  get  you  back;  you  cannot  tell 
how  glad." 

Ian  was  just  going  to  steal  away  and  leave  them  to 
their  joy,  it  was  so  pure,  so  unalloyed,  when  Aline  sud- 
denly bethought  herself  of  him  and  leaving  little  Joan 
she  rushed  forward,  seized  his  hand  with  both  her  own 
and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  ' '  It  was  you  who  thought  out 
all  this;  oh,  you  are  good  to  me." 

She  lifted  up  her  face  and  he  printed  a  kiss  on  her 
forehead.  "No,  princess;  you  remember  my  quotation 
from  Homer.  It  is  you  that  are  good  to  me.  I  owe 
you  everything — I  do  not  mean  mere  physical  life — 
that  is  nothing — nothing." 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  363 

The  guests  were  to  arrive  at  what  a  later  age  would 
have  deemed  the  very  early  hour  of  eleven  o'clock,  so 
after  breakfast  Ian  suggested  that  Aline  should  go  up- 
stairs and  get  ready. 

"But  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

"You  cannot  appear  like  that,"  said  Ian.  "You  must 
get  Shiona  to  tidy  you  up,"  he  said  with  assumed  se- 
verity. 

' '  But  I  have  nothing  better  than  this, ' '  she  answered, 
just  a  little  wistfully. 

"Oh,  yes,  Shiona  has  some  kind  of  a  thing  that  will 
look  better  for  to-day.  Run  along  with  her  and  take 
Joan ;  it  can  be  an  apprentice  lesson  for  her. ' ' 

When  Aline  reached  her  room  she  was  lost  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  things  that  had  been  prepared  for  her  and 
was  charmed  with  them  all.  Shiona  helped  her  to  dress 
and  Joan  folded  up  the  things  she  took  off  and  put  them 
away. 

The  linen  was  of  the  very  finest  quality  that  French 
looms  could  produce,  smoother  to  the  touch  than  any- 
thing she  had  ever  worn,  and  adorned  with  bands  of 
tela  tirata.  There  was  a  pair  of  the  fine  silk  hose  that 
had  recently  been  introduced  into  Britain,  of  a  beautiful 
blue,  somewhat  lighter  than  those  she  had  lost,  and  with 
white  clocks.  The  broad  toed  shoes  were  of  white  kid, 
..with  blue  satin  showing  through  the  slashes,  and  a  large 
real  sapphire  set  in  silver  on  each  shoe. 

'The  camise  was  of  soft  white  silk  rather  full,  smocked 
at  the  throat  and  reaching  below  the  knees,  with  two 
bands  of  lace  insertion  of  the  finest  Italian  punto  a 
reticella  near  the  hem.  Above  this  Shiona  put  on  the 
armless  surcoat,  which  was  low  at  the  neck  and  short, 


364  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

showing  the  white  camise  both  above  and  below  as  well 
as  the  arms,  which  were  full  at  the  shoulder  but  tighter 
toward  the  wrist.  This  was  decorated  round  the  open 
sides  with  orphreys  or  borders  of  cloth-of -silver  embroid- 
ered with  white  heather,  the  badge  of  the  Menstries,  in 
which  the  little  white  blooms  were  real  pearls. 

The  cloak  was  of  rich  blue  velvet  with  two  exquisitely 
designed  diamond  clasps  and  tasselled  cords  of  white 
silk,  the  whole  lined  with  white  satin  and  adorned 
with  a  short  cape  and  border  of  miniver.  In  the  two 
lower  corners  and  again  near  the  clasps,  it  was  deli- 
cately embroidered  with  coloured  silk  and  gold  and  sil- 
ver thread,  after  the  fashion  of  old  Scandinavian  work. 
A  belt  of  large  rectangular  silver  plates,  each  with  its 
own  sculptured  design,  and  a  chatelaine  of  gold  com- 
pleted the  costume.  It  was  a  little  old-fashioned  in 
style,  but  Ian  preferred  the  lines  of  the  earlier  date  to 
those  that  were  coming  into  vogue. 

Aline  was  so  overwhelmed  with  delight  that  she  did 
not  at  first  pause  to  reflect;  but  after  a  time  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed  horror-struck;  "Shiona,  what  are  you 
doing;  you  know  that  I  have  not  the  right  to  wear  any 
of  these  things,  except  perhaps  the  chemise  ?  My  father 
was  a  gentleman  so  I  may  wear  white  silk,  and  I  might 
have  had  black  velvet,  but  not  blue.  No  one  below  a 
Knight  of  the  Garter  or  the  highest  orders  may  wear 
blue  velvet.  I  do  not  know  even  whether  I  may  wear 
the  chatelaine.  I  doubt  if  father  had  two  hundred 
merks  of  land  and  of  course  I  cannot  wear  cloth  of 
silver  or  gold,  no  one  less  than  barons  can  wear  that; 
and  as  for  miniver,  I  do  not  even  know  if  barons  may 
wear  it:  I  believe  I  should  have  to  be  a  countess,  and 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  365 

I  know  for  certain  that  diamonds  and  pearls  are  reserved 
for  dukes  and  duchesses.  So  I  shall  have  to  take  every- 
thing off  and  just  wear  my  old  things  and  the  silk 
chemise";  and  she  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"It  is  all  right,  dear;  we  thought  of  that.  Ian  says 
that  you  are  his  ward  now  and  that  therefore  they  could 
not  object  to  you  wearing  anything  that  I  may  wear, 
and  I  may  wear  anything  I  like  except  purple,  which  is 
reserved  for  the  blood  royal." 

To  reach  such  a  height  of  unimagined  grandeur  al- 
most took  Aline 's  breath  away.  "By  my  troth  this  is 
a  wonderful  birthday,"  she  said,  and  little  Joan  looked 
on  in  sympathetic  wonder,  secretly  pleased  at  being  as- 
sociated with  any  one  so  exalted.  But  her  cup  was  filled 
to  overflowing  when  she  found  that  Ian  had  provided 
her  with  a  costume  of  silk  and  fine  red  camlet  trimmed 
with  black  velvet,  besides  a  small  gold  chain,  which 
things  he  said  she  was  entitled  to  wear  as  a  lady  in  wait- 
ing in  his  household. 

Shiona  was  giving  a  few  last  attentions  to  Aline 's 
hair  and  adding  the  finishing  touch,  a  blue  velvet  fillet 
decorated  with  five  large  crystals  and  three  pearls; — 
"What  wonderful  hair  you  have,  dear!"  she  said. 

Aline  had  always  refrained  from  any  allusion  to  her 
hair  and  even  turned  the  subject  aside ;  but  it  had  grown 
so  phenomenally  that  she  was  feeling  happier  about  it 
and  she  cried  gaily; — "Oh,  that's  nothing,"  and  darted 
away  to  lan's  room,  where  she  happened  to  find  him. 

Aline 's  beauty  was  proverbial,  but  she  looked  more 
dazzling  than  ever.  Ian  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her.  "You  are  the  loveliest  thing  on  earth,"  he 
said. 


366  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

' 'Nonsense,"  answered  Aline,  "but  I  want  to  show 
Shiona  the  hair  that  was  cut  off. ' ' 

Ian  took  it  from  its  hiding  place,  handling  it  lov- 
ingly and  gave  it  her.  ' '  Come  back, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  have 
something  else  for  you." 

She  took  the  hair  and  with  innocent  joy  showed  it 
to  Shiona,  who  was  lost  in  astonishment.  She  then  re- 
turned with  it  to  Ian. 

He  carefully  put  it  away  and  then  said ;  ' '  Shiona  has 
dressed  you,  but  I  want  to  do  the  very  last  bit  my- 
self."  He  then  opened  his  hand  and  in  it  lay  a  light 
chain  with  a  subtly  designed  pendant  of  which  the  domi- 
nant feature  was  a  brilliant  mass  of  red,  one  gigantic 
ruby,  which  Ian  had  taken  from  the  pommel  of  his 
sword. 

He  clasped  it  round  her  neck  and  it  just  fell  on  the 
white  silk.  "One  touch  of  red  in  the  blue  and  white," 
he  said,  "but  after  all,  it's  not  as  fine  a  red  as  your  lips, 
heartsease,"  and  he  kissed  them. 

The  stone  was  obviously  of  immense  value  and  Aline 
tiptoed  hesitatingly  backward  till  she  came  to  the  wall. 
There  on  tiptoe  she  stood,  with  the  palms  of  her  hands 
flat  against  the  wall  and  her  chin  slightly  lifted  till  the 
back  of  her  head  also  touched. 

She  was  a  little  dazed.  At  first  the  beautiful  things 
had  been  a  sheer  joy.  Even  the  momentary  cloud  of 
the  "sumptuary  laws"  had  been  swiftly  dispelled;  but 
now  the  thought  suddenly  overcame  her; — "How  could 
Ian  afford  it?"  She  noticed  the  plain  simplicity  of  his 
own  attire  and  her  quick  intuition  told  her  the  truth. 

"Ian,  Ian,"  she  cried,  "you  should  not  give  me  all 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  367 

these  things.  What  have  you  done? —  How  did  you 
do  it? —  You  have  parted  with  something  you  should 
not." 

She  did  not  move  and  looked  very  tall  in  the  becom- 
ing costume,  standing  with  her  heels  raised  high  from 
the  ground. 

Suddenly  Ian  realised  that  she  would  soon  be  a  child 
no  longer,  and  then  he  would  lose  her.  It  came  like 
a  knife.  He  had  not  admitted  even  to  himself  how  much 
she  was  to  him ;  but  his  love  for  her  had  gradually  ab- 
sorbed his  whole  being.  It  was  the  greatest  shock  he 
had  ever  experienced  in  his  life.  He  stepped  forward 
and  picked  her  up  in  his  strong  arms  and  kissed  her  pas- 
sionately. "It  was  my  sword,  heart  of  mine,"  he  said, 
' '  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  that  I  would  not  wish 
you  to  have." 

Aline  endeavoured  to  protest,  but  he  laughingly  put 
his  hand  over  her  mouth  and  led  her  down-stairs. 

There  was  a  large  concourse  of  guests  and  the  dinner 
was  quite  a  sumptuous  ceremony,  with  a  great  boar's 
head  brought  in  with  much  solemnity.  Ian  and  his 
mother  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  high  table  and  Aline  had 
the  seat  of  honour  on  his  right. 

When  dinner  was  over  they  strolled  in  the  pleasaunce 
and  afterwards  came  in  and  played  games  such  as  hot 
cockles,  and  hunt  the  slipper,  in  which  every  one,  both 
old  and  young,  took  part.  Then  followed  the  dancing. 
If  the  guests  had  been  charmed  before  by  Aline 's  beauty, 
now  they  were  enthralled.  Aline  and  the  Duke  led  off 
with  a  stately  pavan  and  all  watched  with  rapt  inter- 
est the  slow  dreamy  movements,  that  displayed  to  per- 
fection the  exquisite  loveliness  of  the  child's  form.  Ian 


368  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

had  learned  dancing  in  Italy  and  France  and  was  a  con- 
summate exponent  of  the  art,  so  that  the  two  made  a 
picture  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen  in  broad 
Scotland.  After  the  pavan  they  danced  the  cinque 
paces,  a  new  dance  not  long  introduced  from  Italy, 
which  in  turn  was  succeeded  by  the  lively  coranto,  that 
gave  a  new  opportunity  for  Aline  to  reveal  her  light 
and  agile  grace,  vying  in  its  airy  swiftness  with  the 
beauty  of  the  more  studied  movements  of  the  slower 
dance.  lan's  costume  was  of  a  blue  somewhat  deeper  in 
tone  than  Aline 's,  with  white  hose  and  other  touches 
of  white  as  in  hers ;  and  the  result  made  a  pleasing  colour 
effect  as  they  whirled  together  in  the  dance. 

But  it  was  not  only  by  her  appearance,  but  by  her 
subtle  charm  of  manner  that  the  child  fascinated  every 
one  present.  They  had  heard  the  main  facts  of  her  sad 
story  and  each  and  all  did  their  utmost  to  give  her  pleas- 
ure. At  the  close  of  the  evening  they  held  a  mock  cor- 
onation ceremony,  in  which  Aline  was  crowned  with  a 
plain  gold  circlet  and  then,  while  seated  on  the  throne, 
every  guest  was  presented  to  the  Queen  of  the  evening 
and  they  all  kneeled  and  kissed  her  hand, — barons,  earls, 
countesses  and  every  one  present. 

Aline  could  not  help  a  smile  when  the  Earl  of  Ha- 
wick,  who  was  present,  kneeled  before  her.  This  was 
the  man  that  only  a  few  months  ago  she  had  been  nerv- 
ous to  see  and  now  he  was  humbly  kneeling  and  kissing 
her  hand. 

It  had  been  a  supremely  happy  day  for  Aline,  and 
her  only  regret  was  that  Audry  had  not  been  able  to 
share  it.  Even  this  was  modified  by  a  curious  coinci- 
dence, after  the  guests  had  gone.  They  had  all  left 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  369 

early,  as  most  of  them  had  ridden  from  long  distances 
and  even  those  who  were  putting  up  in  Stirling  had  some 
way  to  go. 

After  the  last  guest  had  departed,  and  while  the 
family  were  seated  round  the  hearth,  the  castle  hell 
rang  and  they  heard  the  drawbridge  being  lowered. 
Their  own  serving  man  appeared  shortly  afterward. 
"My  lord,  a  man  named  Walter  Hargrove,  who  hath  a 
boy  with  him,  hath  arrived  and  saith  that  he  wisheth  to 
see  you  on  a  matter  of  private  concern. ' ' 

"Shew  him  up,"  said  Ian. 

Walter  Hargrove  came  in  somewhat  hesitatingly,  ac- 
companied by  a  still  more  nervous  lad.  Aline  in  her 
white  and  blue  costume  rushed  forward  to  greet  them; 
whereat  Walter  was  quite  taken  aback  and  Wilfred,  for 
it  was  he,  nearly  turned  tail  and  fled. 

Ian  advanced  and  shook  their  hands  and  presented 
them  to  the  Duchess  and  the  Lady  Shiona.  "If  you 
had  arrived  a  few  minutes  ago,"  he  said,  "you  should 
have  been  presented  to  the  Queen's  Grace.  Get  on  your 
throne  again,  Your  Highness,"  he  said  to  Aline,  and 
then  with  much  laughter  they  made  Walter  and  Wilfred 
kneel  and  kiss  her  hand. 

Walter  had  recently  been  in  Holwick  and  had  de- 
cided that  he  might  vary  his  programme  by  a  tour  in 
Scotland,  and  make  it  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Ian 
and  Aline  and  little  Joan,  and  of  taking  them  the  news 
from  Upper  Teesdale,  together  with  a  letter  from 
Audry.  The  venture  had  proved  a  great  success  and 
Walter  was  in  an  unusually  contented  frame  of  mind, 
even  for  him. 

"Sit  down,  man,"  said  Ian,  "and  tell  us  everything 


370  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

about  Holwick.  We  should  much  like  to  know  all  that 
befell  after  we  escaped." 

"Oh,  but  tarry  a  little;  Ian,"  said  Aline;  "there  is 
something  that  must  be  done  first.  You  tell  Walter 
what  we  have  been  doing,  while  I  talk  awhile  with  Wil- 
fred. Wilfred,  come  hither,"  she  continued,  leading 
the  way  to  one  of  the  double  seated  windows. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again,  Wilfred,"  she  said, 
when  they  had  sat  down,  "and  you  are  looking  well." 

"Yes,  Mistress  Aline,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and, 
oh,  Mistress,  you  are  looking  bonnie  in  those  brave 
things,"  he  added  in  a  burst  of  boyish  admiration,  and 
then  subsided  overcome  by  shyness  for  having  said  too 
much. 

"Wilfred,"  she  said,  "you  recall  the  last  time  that 
we  met  and  what  we  spake  about?" 

' '  I  do,  indeed,  and  I  shall  not  forget  your  sympathy. ' ' 

"Do  you  remember  my  saying  that  I  thought  the 
spirit  of  light  must  in  its  own  time  triumph  over 
the  spirit  of  darkness  ?  I  did  not  know  at  the  time  what 
moved  me  to  say  it.  I  only  meant  it  in  a  general  way, 
and  yet  I  had  a  strange  presentiment  that  it  had  soine 
special  meaning  for  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"Wilfred,  what  was  the  sad  news  that  you  heard  at 
Kirkoswald?  Tell  me." 

"They  told  us  that  little  Joan  had  gone  to  Durham 
and  died  there." 

"Yes,  but  did  you  hear  it  from  any  one  who  really 
knew  Joan?" 

"No,  Mistress,  it  was  from  a  man  who  had  been  over 
to  Holwick." 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  371 

' '  Then  how  do  you  know  it  was  true  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  Mistress  Aline,  Mistress  Aline,"  said  the  boy, 
' '  do  you  think  it  might  be  untrue  ? ' ' 

"I  know  it  was  untrue,"  she  said  gently. 

For  the  moment  the  boy  was  too  overcome  to  speak. 
His  heart  beat  violently,  his  eyes  grew  round  and  large. 
' '  Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me, ' '  he  besought. 

"I  promised  that  I  would  bring  you  back  the  things 
you  gave  to  .Joan.  I  cannot  do  that  yet;  so  I  am  going 
to  bring  you  Joan  herself.  She  is  here  in  this  place." 

' '  Here  in  this  place ! "  he  repeated  as  Aline  rose  and 
went  to  fetch  the  little  girl. 

She  was  back  in  a  minute  or  two  and  the  boy  was  still 
seated  in  the  same  attitude,  dumbfounded. 

"Here  she  is,  Wilfred,"  she  said,  leading  Joan  for- 
ward by  the  hand. 

The  boy  looked  from  one  to  the  other  too  bewildered 
to  know  what  to  do.  Oh,  how  lovely  Joan  looked  in 
her  red  costume  guarded  with  black  velvet  and  the 
white  linen  chemise  showing  below  her  throat  and  be- 
neath the  velvet  hem.  But  he  was  too  bashful  to  ad- 
vance. 

Joan,  however,  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  "Well, 
Wilfred,  are  you  not  going  to  speak  to  me?"  and  she 
stepped  forward  and  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

Aline  withdrew  and  left  the  two  children  in  the  win- 
dow seat,  whence  they  emerged  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards and  timidly  drew  near  the  group  round  the  fire. 

"Now  tell  us  all  about  Holwick,  Walter,"  said  Aline, 
making  a  place  for  the  two  children. 

"Yes,"  said  Ian,  "why  were  they  so  slow  in  pursuit?" 

"Mistress  "Mowbray   would   not   let   them   have   the 


372  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

horses  from  the  Hall  and  the  folk  broke  the  girths  and 
bridles  of  their  own  horses,  and  finally  they  had  to  get 
fresh  horses  in  Middleton.  The  excitement  was  tre- 
mendous; but  the  strangest  thing  to  the  most  part  of 
us  was  the  behaviour  of  Mistress  Mowbray.  She  seemed 
to  be  greatly  concerned  and  wrung  her  hands  and  said, 
'By  my  Lady,  I  trust  the  child  hath  escaped,'  and, 
later  in  the  day,  Elspeth  told  me  that  she  met  Thomas 
in  the  lower  quadrangle  and  he,  knowing  the  hatred 
that  Mistress  Mowbray  had  toward  you,  must  needs  cry 
unto  her.  'Methinks  those  fresh  horses  from  Middle- 
ton  will  soon  bring  the  jade  back,'  and  she  grew  pur- 
ple in  the  face  and  said  to  him  that,  if  they  did,  she 
would  see  whether  it  were  too  late  to  lodge  him  in  gaol 
because  of  the  corn  he  had  taken  along  with  Andrew. 
I  saw  Thomas  when  I  was  there  last.  He  is  an  ill  crea- 
ture, and  he  much  misliked  it  when  it  was  clear  that 
Mistress  Aline  was  safely  away.  Yet  is  he  but  a  white 
livered  knave.  Father  Ambrose  rouseth  my  ire  more 
than  he." 

"But  you  spake  of  Mistress  Mowbray,"  said  Ian. 

"Yes,  the  first  thing  that  she  did  was  to  send  over 
to  Appleby  that  very  night  for  Mistress  Audry,  who 
came  the  next  morning.  Elspeth  said  that  the  proud 
woman  wept  on  her  neck,  so  that  it  were  pity  to  see. 
I  would  not  have  been  in  the  place  of  Father  Martin 
or  Father  Austin  if  they  had  fallen  into  her  power. 
For  days  she  made  the  household  tremble  under  the 
weight  of  her  authority. 

"The  next  day  Master  Richard  came  back  looking 
like  a  broken  man.  He  said  he  had  tried  everything 
but  could  do  nothing.  As  the  time  passed  on,  and  it 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  373 

gradually  became  clear  that  the  pursuit  had  failed,  he 
recovered  himself. 

"Luckily  for  Mistress  Audry  no  one  thought  of  ques- 
tioning her  as  she  had  been  away  so  long ;  but  every  one 
was  marvelling  who  it  could  possibly  have  been  that 
had  dropped  on  a  sudden  from  heaven. 

' '  Then  news  began  to  leak  through.  First  they  heard 
that  two  of  the  pursuers  had  been  buried  at  Haltwhistle. 
Then  came  the  news  of  the  night  that  you  spent  at 
Brampton.  Wilfred  Ackroyd  was  found  and  stuck 
to  his  tale  that  you  had  gone  to  Carlisle,  but  they  found 
nothing  there." 

"Oh,  Wilfred!"  said  Aline. 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  he  said,  "I  did  laugh  when  I 
saw  them  galloping  off  the  wrong  way." 

"Timothy  held  his  peace,"  continued  Walter,  "and 
no  one  seemed  to  connect  the  drowned  prisoner  in  the 
Eden  with  Mistress  Aline.  Indeed  I  doubt  if  the  tale 
of  your  drowning  ever  reached  Holwick,  your  Grace. 
The  priests  went  south  and  Master  Mowbray  failed  to 
track  them,  at  any  rate  at  first.  I  believe  he  did  even- 
tually get  into  communication,  but  they  refused  to  say 
anything. 

"It  seemed  pretty  clear  that  Mistress  Aline  had  es- 
caped but  who  was  her  saviour  has  remained  to  this  day 
an  insoluble  mystery." 

"Then  they  guessed  nothing  from  your  letter,  Ian?" 
said  Aline. 

"No,"  said  Walter.  "When  I  was  there  your  note, 
that  you  sent  in  a  round  about  way  through  Master 
Eustace  Cleveland,  had  just  arrived.  They  were  over- 
joyed to  hear  of  the  child's  safety  and  after  much  dis- 


374  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

cussion  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Cleveland  himself 
had  something  to  do  with  it  in  spite  of  his  denial. 
'Marry,'  said  Mistress  Mowbray,  'I  saw  the  way  he  was 
taken  with  the  child.'  'So  was  every  one  except  your- 
self, woman/  said  Master  Richard,  'that  proves  noth- 
ing.' Mistress  Mowbray  mumbled  something  about  not 
taking  up  with  every  new  face,  like  some  people,  and 
Master  Eichard  did  not  press  the  point." 

''Who  told  you  that?"  asked  Aline. 

"Mistress  Audry,  and  she  says  that  since  the  first 
few  days,  when  her  anger  had  passed,  her  mother  has 
been  much  gentler  than  was  her  wont  to  every  one.  She 
has  had  your  little  garden  carefully  wrought  over. 
'Mistress  Aline  might  come  back,'  she  says.  She  is 
much  changed. 

"Master  Richard  believes  that  Mistress  Aline  is  some- 
where in  hiding  in  Teesdale,  but  he  has  forbidden  enquiry 
to  be  made,  as  he  thinks,  under  the  circumstances,  it 
is  safer,  in  the  event  of  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  the 
authorities  to  find  her,  that  they  can  all  honestly  say 
they  know  nothing.  I  believe  that  he  personally  thinks 
Master  Gower  knows  more  than  Master  Cleveland. ' ' 

"Now  let  me  read  Audry 's  letter,"  said  Aline.  This 
was  a  matter  of  some  difficulty,  as  Audry  was  barely 
able  to  write ;  but  the  evident  trouble,  that  the  letter  had 
been,  made  it  a  dearer  token  of  affection.  Aline  made 
it  out  as  follows: 

"To  my  dearest  and  most  beloved  cousin  Aline  Gillespie, 

"Thou  canst  not  think  how  fain  I  was  to  get  thy  dear  letter. 
Walter  will  tell  thee  the  most  part  of  the  news,  but  I  must 
with  mine  own  hand  tell  thee  how  overjoyed  I  was  to  know  of 
a  surety  of  thy  safety.  When  Mother  sent  for  me  and  I  came 
home  I  was  heartbroken.  I  used  to  sleep  in  thy  bed  and  kiss 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  375 

the  things  that  thou  hadst  worn  and  cry  myself  to  sleep.  But 
gradually  it  seemed  clear  that  thou  hadst  escaped  and  I  offered 
up  many  prayers  of  thankfulness  as  shall  I  again  and  again 
this  night. 

"I  have  one  item  of  good  news.  Dost  remember  the  linen  that 
Mother  found  in  our  room.  It  was  then  lying  with  the  wrappings 
and  cord  with  which  it  came.  She  took  them  all  down  and  must 
herself  have  put  the  wrappings  on  that  little  dark  shelf  near 
her  linen  chest.  I  recognised  them  one  day  by  the  colour  of 
the  cord,  and  I  took  them  down,  and  lo,  within,  there  was  the  little 
book.  I  have  put  it  in  its  own  secret  place  in  the  lock  in  the 
library.  I  am  sure  this  will  glad  thine  heart.  Someday  I 
trust  thou  wilt  be  able  to  read  the  rest  to  me.  Thou  wilt 
indeed  be  the  grand  lady  now; — to  think  of  thee  living  in  a 
great  castle  with  a  real  Duke !  May  God  be  with  thee. 

"From  ATJDBY  MOWBBAY." 

After  Aline  had  read  the  letter  they  told  Walter  the 
true  state  of  affairs  and  how  he  had  happened  to  come 
on  the  only  festal  day  that  they  had  had. 

It  was  arranged  that  "Walter  and  Wilfred  should  put 
up  for  the  night.  There  certainly  was  ample  room  for 
the  horses  in  the  empty  stables.  The  Duchess  was  tired 
and  went  to  bed  early  and  was  soon  followed  by  Shiona, 
so  that  Ian  and  Aline  were  left  by  themselves. 

They  sat  quietly  for  a  long  time,  Ian  gazing  silently 
at  Aline,  idly  sketching  her  shifting  poses  on  the  easel 
that  happened  to  be  standing  near;  but  he  was  not 
conscious  of  what  he  was  doing;  his  thoughts  were  far 
away  as  they  wandered  over  the  strange  circumstances 
of  his  career.  Aline  was  more  like  her  mother  than  ever, 
although  still  more  surpassingly  beautiful.  He  was 
quite  sure  about  it  now.  It  was  undoubtedly  Aline 's 
mother  that  he  had  loved  with  that  wild  boy-love  when 
he  was  but  thirteen,  and  now  Aline  would  soon  be  a 
woman  herself!  "Who  was  there,"  he  wondered,  "who 


376  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

would  be  worthy  of  such  a  treasure?  In  any  case  it 
could  not  be  very  long  now  before  some  one  claimed  her. 
His  own  mother  was  married  at  fifteen,  so  was  the  Lady 
Jane  Grey,  whom  Aline  in  some  ways  resembled."  He 
sighed  sadly. 

"Are  you  not  happy,  Ian?  I  am  so  happy  to-night," 
said  Aline,  and  came  across  and  kissed  him  and  then 
nestled  at  his  feet  after  her  favourite  manner. 

"Not  altogether,"  he  said. 

"Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"Not  to-night,  heartsease,"  he  answered,  bending 
down  and  kissing  the  fragrant  hair.  "Some  day,  per- 
haps, I  will." 

For  a  time  the  room  was  very  still.  Suddenly  a 
thought  occurred  to  Ian.  "I  have  just  remembered 
something, ' '  he  said ;  "  I  will  get  it. ' ' 

The  rush  of  events  had  crowded  the  little  pouch  and 
its  contents  out  of  his  mind,  but  his  present  mood  re- 
minded him  of  it. 

He  brought  the  amulet  from  its  hiding  place.  Aline 
was  still  seated  on  the  floor.  He  sat  down  on  the  floor 
also,  a  little  behind  her,  and  lifted  one  of  the  lovely 
hands.  "I  have  something  else  that  I  meant  to  give 
you  before, ' '  he  said,  holding  up  the  bracelet. 

The  strange  blue  stones  shone  in  the  firelight  as  if 
they  themselves  were  on  fire.  "  'Weal  where  I  come 
as  a  gift  of  love,'  he  read.  Pray  God  it  may  be  so,  heart 
of  mine." 

Aline  leaned  back  and  lay  with  her  head  on  his  lap, 
looking  up  at  him  as  he  told  the  story. 

"There  are  no  scars  on  the  beautiful  hands  now,"  he 
said  softly. 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  377 

She  half  drew  the  hand  away  and  then  stopped  and  it 
lay  passively  in  his  hold  as  he  lovingly  fastened  the 
bracelet  round  the  perfect  wrist. 

She  did  not  thank  him;  she  did  not  speak;  she  only 
lay  there  quietly  looking  into  his  eyes. 

A  log  slipped  from  the  fire;  it  did  not  make  much 
noise,  but  the  sound  echoed  through  the  deserted  rooms. 
How  absolutely  alone  together  they  were ! 

Somehow  the  bracelet  seemed  to  have  a  special  sig- 
nificance :  perhaps  she  might  be  held  after  all.  A  feel- 
ing of  peace,  almost  of  happiness,  stole  over  him. 

"You  are  good  to  me,"  she  said  at  last.  "Yes,  I  am 
happy." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

IN  order  that  Aline  should  not  discover  her  presence, 
little  Joan  had  been  put  to  sleep  the  first  night  in 
an  upper  chamber,  in  a  wing  of  the  great  castle 
remote  from  that  occupied  by  the  family.  To  avoid 
extra  trouble  on  the  day  of  the  birthday,  she  returned 
there  the  second  night,  although  in  future  she  was  to 
have  a  small  ante-room  connecting  with  the  girls'  cham- 
ber. In  the  rooms  below  her  were  the  servants  who  had 
been  hired  for  the  occasion.  She  half  undressed  and, 
as  she  sat  combing  her  hair,  she  looked  out  at  the  dark 
night.  Below,  she  heard  the  rushing  of  the  burn,  and, 
dimly,  under  the  starry  sky  she  could  see  the  great  hills 
to  the  north.  There  was  a  close  feeling  in  the  air,  as 
though  there  might  be  thunder  or  heavy  rain.  It  was 
a  little  oppressive  but  her  heart  was  so  full  of  gladness 
that  she  refused  to  allow  it  to  influence  her. 

How  strangely  things  had  come  about.  She  remem- 
bered the  horrible  prophecy  of  "Moll  o'  the  graves" 
about  her  going  away  that  seemed  to  mean  death.  It  was 
curious  how  it  had  been  fulfilled  and  yet  not  fulfilled. 
Could  the  old  hag  really  in  some  way  see  into  the  future, 
and  what  did  the  prophecy  mean  about  her  beautiful 
little  mistress, — "she  shall  follow  not  long  after;  marry, 
I  see  the  fire  about  her"?  They  had  indeed  come  near 

378 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  379 

to  burning  her,  but  she  had  escaped  the  flames.  "Well, 
all  has  turned  out  for  the  best  so  far.  Mistress  Aline 
said  that  the  light  would  overcome  the  dark.  I  believe 
she  is  stronger  than  old  Moll,  after  all,"  she  thought. 

She  had  finished  combing  her  hair,  and  after  kneeling 
before  her  little  crucifix  was  soon  in  bed  and  asleep. 

Aline  meanwhile,  however,  lay  awake;  the  heavy 
storm-feeling  in  the  air  would  not  allow  her  to  rest. 
She  was  excited  also  from  the  events  of  the  day.  After 
an  hour  or  two  she  got  up  and  looked  out.  The  stars 
had  all  gone  and  the  thick  clouds  made  the  night  im- 
penetrably black.  Shiona  was  sound  asleep.  She  crept 
back  again  to  bed  and  tossed  and  tossed,  but  it  was  of 
no  avail.  Another  hour  passed.  She  thought  she  would 
get  up  and  feel  for  the  tinder  box  and  light  the  lamp. 
Where  was  it?  Could  she  find  it  in  the  dark? 

As  she  lay  there  wondering,  it  seemed  to  get  a  little 
lighter.  Yes,  it  was  certainly  getting  lighter,  surely  it 
could  not  be  morning  yet.  She  lay  for  a  few  minutes, 
things  in  the  room  were  rapidly  becoming  visible,  but 
that  was  surely  not  daylight;  no,  it  was  not  daylight. 
She  jumped  up  and  looked  out.  "Gramercy,  the  cas- 
tle is  on  fire."  She  looked  again;  it  was  the  wing 
where  Joan  slept.  She  crossed  the  room  and  woke 
Shiona.  ''Quick,"  she  said,  "the  castle  is  on  fire. 
Wake  them  all — tell  Ian — Joan  will  be  burnt — I  must 
go." 

She  dashed  down  the  stairs,  as  she  was,  without  stay- 
ing to  put  anything  on,  and  ran  across  the  court  yard. 
There  she  met  the  terrified  servants  rushing  from  the 
building. 

"Where  is  Joan,  have  you  seen  her?"  she  asked. 


380  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"No,  Mistress,"  they  said,  "she  must  still  be  in  her 
room. ' ' 

Aline  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"You  must  not  go  up,"  they  screamed,  "you  must  not 
go  up,  the  stairs  will  fall." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  fact  that  at  some  time,  when 
alterations  were  being  made,  a  wooden  stairway  had 
been  substituted  for  the  original  stone  one,  which  now 
existed  only  in  a  ruinous  condition. 

But  Aline  ran  on  without  heeding  the  warnings  and 
started  to  climb  the  stairs.  The  fire  had  broken  out  on 
the  second  floor  and  the  flames  were  raging  through  to 
the  staircase.  Could  she  get  past?  She  caught  up  her 
nightrobe  in  a  tight  bundle  on  her  breast  to  try  to  keep 
it  from  the  fire  and  made  a  rush.  The  flames  scorched 
her  skin  and  she  burned  her  bare  feet  on  the  blazing 
boards.  But  she  managed  to  get  past.  One  sleeve  even 
caught  alight,  but  she  was  able  after  she  had  passed 
through  to  crush  it  out  with  her  other  hand. 

"Joan,  Joan,"  she  shouted,  as  she  made  her  way  into 
Joan's  room.  Joan  was  still  asleep,  partly  stupified  by 
the  smoke.  Aline  roused  her  and  they  rushed  back  to 
the  stairs,  but  in  the  interval  the  whole  stairway  had 
become  a  bellowing  furnace  and  the  flames  roared  up 
it,  so  that  they  could  not  look  down. 

Joan  gave  a  little  pitiful  cry.  "We  are  lost,  oh,  Mis- 
tress Aline,  we  are  lost." 

"No,  not  yet,  Joan,  keep  up  a  stout  heart;  let  us  try 
if  there  be  not  another  way." 

They  ran  through  two  rooms  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  the  stair  and  came  to  a  door.  But  it  was  locked. 
They  tried  in  vain  to  open  it.  They  beat  upon  it,  but 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  381 

it  was  beyond  their  strength  to  break,  so  they  went  back 
to  Joan's  room. 

"Can  you  climb,  Joan?"  asked  Aline. 

"No." 

"Then  I  must  try  and  let  you  down."  She  seized 
the  bedclothes  as  she  spoke  and  knotted  them  together. 
Alas,  they  could  not  possibly  reach.  She  remembered 
how  Ian  had  saved  Wilfred  by  the  rope  under  the  bed 
and  feverishly  threw  off  the  mattrass.  The  bed  had 
wooden  laths! 

She  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  that  a  crowd 
had  gathered  below.  How  far  down  would  the  bed- 
clothes extend?  She  made  trial  and  shouted  to  the 
crowd  that  some  one  should  try  and  find  a  tall  ladder, 
while  others,  in  case  of  failure,  should  bring  a  blanket 
and  make  a  soft  pile  of  hay.  The  crowd  scattered  and 
in  a  few  moments  there  was  a  great  heap  of  hay  and  some 
ten  persons  holding  a  blanket  stretched  above  it.  Yet, 
look  as  they  would,  no  ladder  was  to  be  found  except  a 
little  short  thing  that  was  no  use.  Possibly  the  other 
ladder  was  in  the  burning  building,  possibly  it  had 
been  mislaid  in  the  festal  preparations. 

Aline 's  lips  were  parched  and  her  tongue  clave  to 
the  roof  of  her  mouth ;  for  the  moment  she  nearly  suc- 
cumbed to  her  fear.  So  it  was  Joan's  life  or  hers? 
"Why  cannot  Joan  climb?"  she  thought.  Surely  she 
could  manage  to  get  down  as  far  as  that?  She  looked 
at  the  child ;  but  she  was  stiff  with  terror  and  absolutely 
helpless. 

Somehow  Aline  felt  it  was  not  the  same  thing  as  when 
she  had  swum  the  river,  then  she  had  a  chance  of  her 
life;  indeed,  if  she  had  had  no  chance  there  was  not 


382  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

the  slightest  use  in  trying  to  swim,  as  it  could  not  have 
helped  Ian.  Here  there  was  no  chance ;  could  she  think 
of  no  other  way? 

The  flames  roared  nearer,  she  began  to  find  it  hard 
to  breathe.  " Perhaps  there  is  a  way,"  she  said,  "but 
who  can  think  in  a  case  like  this?" 

Joan  had  now  become  unconscious.  Aline  thought 
no  more ;  the  sacrifice  was  made ;  she  tied  one  end  round 
Joan  and  put  a  pillow  on  the  sill  to  prevent  chafing. 
She  dragged  the  bed  to  the  window  and  took  a  turn  with 
the  extemporised  rope  round  one  of  the  knobs  to  pre- 
vent it  going  too  fast.  She  lifted  the  child  and  gently 
lowered  her  toward  the  ground.  For  a  moment  she 
hesitated  again.  "Could  she  climb  down  and  untie 
Joan?"  No,  the  whole  thing  might  break. 

The  drop  below  Joan  was  about  fifteen  feet.  "Hold 
tight,"  she  shouted,  and  those  below  braced  themselves 
together  and  gripped  the  blanket  firmly  and  the  child 
fell  into  it.  She  was  so  light  that  the  hay  below  was  not 
necessary. 

The  fire  had  now  reached  half  across  the  room  itself 
and  was  breaking  through  the  floor  boards  in  little 
tongues  of  flame,  when  the  choking  smoke  curled 
upward. 

The  end  had  come  then;  there  was  no  hope.  She 
turned  to  go  and  see  if  by  any  chance  the  locked  door 
could  be  made  to  yield.  It  was  vain,  as  indeed  she 
knew,  and  the  flame  and  smoke  in  that  room  was  worse 
than  her  own.  She  ran  back  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  She  thought  she  saw  Ian  with  a  white  drawn 
face  looking  upward,  but  he  disappeared. 

Once  again  in  the  frenzy  of  despair  she  rushed  to  the 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  383 

other  room  and  flung  herself  against  the  door;  but  had 
to  stagger  back  to  Joan's  room  before  she  was  com- 
pletely overcome.  The  flames  again  caught  her  night 
robe  and  she  tore  it  from  her  as  she  struggled  to  the 
window  where  she  might  still  breathe.  The  heat  was 
awful;  oh,  the  pain  of  it!  "But  I  must  die  bravely," 
she  said,  "as  father  would  have  me  do." 

All  that  she  had  ever  done  seemed  to  rise  before  her. 
She  saw  her  mother  as  in  the  portrait.  She  saw  her 
father  and  Audry,  and  last  she  saw  Ian.  He  seemed 
to  be  weeping  over  her!  Was  she  already  dead?  No, 
and  she  prayed; — "Lord  Jesus,  Thou  hast  taught  me  to 
come  unto  Thee  and  I  beg  of  Thee  to  forgive  me  all  that 
I  have  done  wrong  in  my  life.  Take  me  in  Thy  arms 
and  if  it  please  Thee,  end  this  terrible  pain.  Be  with 
Ian  and  comfort  him,  Lord,  when  I  am  gone.  Watch 
over  little  Joan  and  make  her  happier  than  I  have  been. 
Oh,  Lord,  the  pain,  the  pain!"  The  smoke  thickened, 
she  gave  one  little  gasp  and  spoke  no  more. 

Aline  was  right;  it  was  Ian  that  she  had  seen  below. 
Shiona  had  first  roused  her  mother  and  then  Ian.  He 
had  gone  to  the  stairway  just  in  time  to  see  it  give  way 
and  come  down  with  a  crash.  He  had  then  endeavoured 
to  get  round  the  other  way,  but  the  smoke  and  flame 
was  impossible.  Once  more  he  had  come  down  and 
obtained  some  wet  cloths  to  wrap  over  his  face  and  make 
one  more  attempt.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  he  had 
glanced  up  and  seen  Aline  at  the  window. 

She  looked  just  as  he  had  seen  her  in  his  visions  with 
the  flame  and  smoke  rushing  round  her.  It  was  this 
then  that  he  had  foreseen.  It  was  this  that  the  old 
woman  had  foretold.  A  sword  went  through  his  heart, 


384  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

followed  by  a  dull  crushing  pain  that  seemed  to  para- 
lyse his  will.  He  ran  as  in  a  dream.  Again  he  reached 
the  range  of  upper  rooms.  The  flames  belched  forth  at 
him  and  the  smoke  took  weird  fantastic  shapes.  It 
stretched  out  long  skinny  arms  as  though  to  hold  him 
back  and  there  all  round  him  were  evil  mocking  faces 
spitting  out  at  him  with  tongues  of  flame. 

Voices  surged  through  the  air.  "This  is  the  end, 
you  shall  not  reach  her,  she  shall  die,  but  you  shall  live 
— live. ' '  The  voices  ended  in  a  peal  of  laughter.  What 
was  life  to  him  without  Aline.  He  was  going  mad.  He 
knew  it.  Mad!  Mad!  That  was  the  fiendish  scheme 
of  the  powers  of  darkness.  He  would  live  and  yet  never 
see  anything  all  his  life  but  the  dead  child.  Horrible! 

He  had  come  to  the  worst  part;  he  wrapped  one  of 
the  wet  cloths  about  his  mouth  and  nose  and  over  his 
hair  and  plunged  into  the  smoke  and  flame.  It  roared, 
it  stung,  it  blinded  him,  he  nearly  screamed,  but  he 
staggered  through  and  came  to  the  great  oak  door.  He 
tried,  like  Aline,  to  open  it,  but  it  would  not  yield.  He 
hurled  his  weight  against  it;  it  was  of  no  avail.  Again 
and  again  he  tried  and  then  stood  back  to  look  for  some 
weapon.  A  heavy  oak  table  all  ablaze  stood  on  one  side 
of  the  room ;  he  dashed  at  it,  and  heaved  it  over,  seizing 
one  of  the  legs  and  wrenching  at  it  with  all  his  might. 
He  strove  and  pulled  and  then  kicked  it  with  his  foot. 
It  came  away  with  a  loud  crash. 

It  was  partly  burned  and  the  red  hot  surface  bit  into 
his  flesh.  He  did  not  care  but  raised  it  above  his  head 
and  turned  to  the  door.  Tortured  by  the  agony  of  heat 
as  he  was,  there,  to  his  excited  imagination,  appeared 
the  horrible  form  of  "Moll  o'  the  graves,"  leering  at  him 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  385 

and  barring  the  way.  She  seemed  to  push  him  back 
with  her  bony  claw-like  hand.  He  swung  the  heavy  oak 
leg  through  the  air  like  a  maniac  and  shrieked, — "All 
the  devils  in  Hell  shall  not  hold  me  back."  He  frothed 
at  the  mouth  and  battered  in  her  skull.  She  grinned 
at  him  as  the  blood  trickled  through  her  teeth  and 
pointed  to  the  monstrous  shapes  that  seemed  to  gather 
out  of  the  smoke.  He  thrust  her  aside  with  his  foot, 
his  heart  ceased  to  beat,  but  he  thundered  on  the  door. 
Once.  Twice.  Thrice.  And  the  fourth  time  it  gave 
way,  while  the  door  flew  open  and  he  fell  heavily 
forward. 

He  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  hurried  on.  There,  by 
the  window,  lay  the  beautiful  little  body.  As  his  brain 
reeled  he  saw  the  martyr,  George  Wishart,  standing  over 
it  in  the  fire,  holding  the  evil  spirits  at  bay.  lan's  eyes 
seemed  to  start  from  his  head.  He  pressed  his  hands 
over  them  as  he  advanced  and  looked  again.  The 
flames  were  actually  touching  her.  Ah,  she  was  dead, 
but  how  unutterably  beautiful!  Why  for  the  second 
time  in  his  life  must  death  snatch  out  of  it  the  one 
supreme  treasure  ?  Legions  of  thoughts  swirled  through 
his  mind.  He  would  paint  her  like  that.  Why  was 
he  not  a  sculptor?  He  would  immortalise  her  form  in 
marble.  What  transcendent  loveliness! 

As  he  stooped  quickly,  suddenly  his  brain  cleared, 
and,  gathering  up  her  hair,  he  wrapped  it  in  one  of  the 
wet  cloths  and  drew  it  in  a  single  thickness  over  her 
face.  With  another  he  covered  what  he  could  of  the 
exquisite  white  form  and  picked  it  up  and  ran. 

This  time  the  fiends  seemed  unable  to  reach  him,  but 
before  he  arrived  at  the  third  room  there  was  a  rever* 


386  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

berating  roar,  part  of  the  floor  had  given  way  and  a 
great  blank  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide  yawned  before  him. 

Once  more  the  voices  shouted; — "You  are  ours — 
ours — and  she  is  dead."  Yet  he  heeded  them  not,  but 
turned  back  a  little  way,  then  ran  with  all  his  might  and 
leaped  and  cleared  the  chasm. 

On  he  went,  down  the  stairs,  the  madness  was  on  him 
again.  "Keep  back,  keep  back,"  he  shouted  as  he  tore 
through  the  crowd.  He  looked  so  terrible,  his  face  dis- 
torted with  pain,  as  he  ran  past  that  they  scattered 
in  all  directions.  Shiona,  at  first,  alone  dared  to  follow 
him.  He  took  Aline  to  one  of  the  lower  rooms  in  the 
other  part  of  the  castle.  "Oil,"  he  cried,  "send  some 
one  for  oil  and  linen." 

Little  Joan  was  coming  timidly  behind  and  ran  for 
the  things.  Ian  bent  over  Aline;  she  did  not  breathe. 
He  filled  his  lungs  with  fresh  air  and  putting  his  face 
down  to  hers  breathed  into  her  and  drew  the  air  forth. 
It  was  the  intuition  of  affection  and  it  saved  her  life. 
After  a  few  moments  she  began  to  breathe  again.  Joan 
had  then  returned  with  the  oil. 

It  was  the  smoke  and  gases  of  the  fire  that  had  suf- 
focated her,  and  except  on  the  soles  of  the  little  feet 
there  were  nowhere  any  serious  burns.  But  there  were 
great  red  patches  here  and  there  all  over  her,  and  the 
arm  where  the  night  dress  had  first  caught  fire  was 
slightly  blistered.  He  wrapped  her  entirely  in  oiled 
linen,  and  laid  her  gently  on  a  mattress  that  had  been 
brought  down. 

All  the  time  he  never  spoke  a  word  and  Shiona  was 
frightened  at  his  strange  manner.  Immediately  he  had 
finished  he  fell  senseless  to  the  ground.  They  picked 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  387 

him  up  and  laid  him  on  the  mattrass.  He  was  badly 
burned  in  several  places,  particularly  the  palms  of  his 
hands;  he  had  also,  as  they  afterwards  discovered, 
strained  himself  severely  in  the  leap  with  the  child  in 
his  arms.  For  a  time  he  lay  still  and  then  began  to  rave 
in  wild  delirium. 

They  did  what  they  could  for  him,  while  Walter  took 
his  best  horse  and  galloped  to  Stirling  for  a  physician. 
Meanwhile  the  neighbours  from  far  and  near  were  fight- 
ing the  fire.  There  were  three  well-shafts,  carried  up 
to  the  roof  in  the  walls  of  the  castle ;  and  chains  of  men 
and  women  passed  the  buckets  from  hand  to  hand.  The 
same  was  done  from  the  burn  down  below.  They  did 
not  attempt  to  do  more  than  keep  the  fire  from  spread- 
ing beyond  the  blazing  wing.  But  a  new  ally  came  to 
their  aid  that  helped  them  not  a  little.  The  long  threat- 
ened storm  burst  upon  them  with  thunder  and  light- 
ning, but  accompanied  by  a  torrential  deluge  of  rain; 
and  before  morning  the  fire  was  completely  under 
control. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A   TALE  OF   A   TUB 

IT  was  a  beautiful  late  autumn  day  and  the  sun  was 
shining  on  the  moat  and  the  old  walls  of  Holwick. 
Some  few  weeks  previously  news  had  arrived  in 
that  remote  corner  of  the  death  of  Queen  Mary  and  the 
accession  of  Elizabeth,  and  Audry  was  sitting  as  she 
often  did,  in  the  bay  window  of  Mistress  Mowbray's 
bower,  looking  down  toward  Middleton,  when  four  rid- 
ers and  a  pack  horse  were  seen  approaching  the  gates. 

Audry  had  noticed  their  coming  and,  as  they  drew 
nearer,  she  recognised  two  of  them  and  ran  eagerly  out 
to  meet  them.  "Oh,  how  I  have  hoped  for  you  to 
come,"  she  said,  "and  somehow  I  knew  it  would  not  be 
long  before  you  were  here." 

Ian  dismounted  and  helped  his  sister  and  Aline  to 
alight,  while  the  serving  man  took  the  horses.  Aline 
was  in  perfect  health,  but  Ian  was  still  worn  and  thin. 
She  had  not  been  long  in  recovering;  but  he  had  hov- 
ered between  life  and  death  for  some  time. 

"This  is  the  Lady  Shiona,  lan's  sister,"  said  Aline. 
Audry  came  forward  a  little  shyly,  but  Shiona  said, 
"Oh,  I  have  heard  so  much  about  you,"  and  kissed  her 
warmly. 

Audry  then  flung  her  arms  round  Aline  as  though 
she  would  never  let  her  go. 

"You  must  not  leave  Ian  in  the  cold,"  said  Aline. 

"No,  indeed,  I  should  think  not,"  exclaimed  Audry; 

388 


A  TALE  OF  A  TUB  389 

"why,  if  it  were  not  for  him  you  would  not  be  here  at 
all,"  and  she  held  up  her  face  to  be  kissed. 

' '  She  is  getting  too  big  to  be  kissed,  is  she  not  ? ' '  said 
Ian. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Aline,  "you  kiss  me." 

"That  is  a  different  matter,"  said  Ian,  laughing,  as 
he  kissed  Audry,  "you  are  my  ward,  you  see." 

Although  Master  Richard  and  his  wife  were  by  no 
means  pleased  at  the  political  change,  they  were  de- 
lighted that  it  had  brought  their  young  visitor,  and 
Mistress  Eleanor  greeted  her  with  an  unusual  show  of 
affection.  She  had  been  long  enough  falling  under 
Aline 's  spell,  but  the  conquest  was  complete  and  re- 
sulted in  the  re-development  of  a  side  of  her  nature  that 
had  practically  lain  dormant  since,  a  charming  girl  of 
sixteen,  Master  Richard  had  met  her  in  York  and 
against  all  the  wishes  of  his  parents  had  insisted  on 
marrying  her.  She  became  more  human  and  more 
anxious  to  please,  and  gradually  won  the  esteem  and 
even  love  of  her  servitors  and  the  people  of  Holwick. 

Aline  introduced  her  escort,  and  while  they  were  being 
shown  to  their  rooms,  she  went  and  found  Elspeth. 

Elspeth  wept  tears  of  joy  over  her  and  said;  "Now, 
hinnie,  I  shall  be  able  to  die  happy.  I  thought  the  sun- 
light had  gone  out  of  my  life  forever." 

They  had  a  long  talk  and  in  the  afternoon  she  went 
down  with  Elspeth  to  the  Arnsides.  Janet  seized  a 
stool  and  dusted  it  for  the  young  mistress;  and  John, 
who  was  just  outside  the  house,  came  in. 

"O  John,"  Aline  said,  "I  can  never  repay  you  or 
thank  you  enough,  it  is  no  use  my  trying  to  put  my 
thanks  into  words." 


390  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"What  I  did  was  nothing"  he  said. 

"But  if  you  had  not  done  it,  the  Duke  of  Ochil  would 
never  have  come  and  I  should  have  been  lost." 

"No  one  who  knew  you,  Mistress  Aline,  could  have 
done  less." 

The  time  seemed  all  too  short  to  the  Arnsides,  when 
Aline  turned  to  go.  "I  shall  ask  Cousin  Eichard  to 
let  us  stay  here  for  at  least  a  month, ' '  she  said,  ' '  even  if 
I  do  not  come  back  here  to  live.  I  am  going  to  teach 
you  to  read,  John,  and  I  have  brought  you  this,"  and 
she  produced  a  beautifully  bound  copy  of  the  Scriptures, 
which  she  had  bought  for  him  with  all  the  money  she 
had  left. 

John  was  confused  with  gratitude,  and  Aline  fled, 
leaving  him  an  opportunity  to  recover  by  himself. 

She  had  had  a  long  talk  with  Ian  in  which  they  had 
decided  that  it  was  right  that  Master  Mowbray  should 
hear  the  whole  story  and  be  told  about  the  secret  room, 
as  after  all  it  belonged  to  him. 

So  that  night  she  secured  the  little  book  and  took  it 
up  to  her  old  room  with  Audry. 

As  they  were  undressing,  Aline  took  off  the  ruby  pen- 
dant, which  she  was  wearing  concealed  beneath  her 
simple  costume. 

"Oh,  how  lovely!"  exclaimed  Audry,  "diamonds  and 
pearls  and — what  a  marvellous  ruby!  But  Aline,  you 
have  no  right  to  wear  this." 

"I  feel  a  little  doubtful,  but  Ian  says  it  is  all  right, 
as  at  present  I  am  in  the  position  of  his  ward  and  in 
any  case  I  am  Scots  and  not  English." 

"But  if  you  are  father's  ward  then  you  will  count 
as  English." 


A  TALE  OF  A  TUB  391 

"Anyway,  I  shall  not  wear  it  in  public;  so  it  does 
not  matter." 

''Your  luck  has  come  at  last,  Aline;  just  fancy  your 
wearing  diamonds  and  pearls  like  a  duke's  daughter. 
But  you  deserve  to  be  lucky  after  all  you  have  been 
through.  I  would  not  go  through  what  you  have  been 
through,  for  all  the  luck  in  the  world,  you  beautiful 
lovely  thing." 

Audry  had  by  this  time  begun  combing  Aline 's  hair. 
' '  Why,  Aline, ' '  she  said,  ' '  your  hair  is  not  quite  so  long 
as  it  was!" 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  Aline,  and  she  told 
her  all  about  the  cutting  off.  "But  it  has  very  nearly 
grown  again,  it  has  been  extraordinarily  quick." 

"Yes,  you  are  beautiful,"  Audry  went  on,  "look  at 
that  hair,  look  at  that  neck,  look  at  those  perfect  ears." 

"Do  not  be  silly,  Audry!" 

"Yes,"  said  Audry,  not  heeding,  "and  the  luck  is 
not  over  yet.  You  will  be  married  very  soon." 

Aline  blushed.     "Be  quiet,  Audry." 

"But  you  are  far  too  beautiful  and  charming  and 
good  to  be  left  long  unmarried,"  and  Audry  embraced 
her  impulsively. 

"Come,  let  us  get  into  bed  and  sit  and  study  the 
book." 

So  Aline  read  to  the  end  and  discovered  that  it  ex- 
plained how  to  open  the  great  iron  chest. 

The  next  day  they  managed  to  leave  Shiona  with  Mis- 
tress Mowbray,  and  Aline,  Audry  and  Ian  took  Master 
Mowbray  into  the  library. 

They  sat  in  the  great  window  seat  and  Aline  read 
out  of  the  little  book  and  told  the  story  of  their  adven- 


392  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

tures,  which  was  frequently  supplemented  by  Audry  and 
Ian.  Richard  Mowbray  was  again  entranced  and  he 
thought  Aline 's  new  tale  even  more  wonderful  than 
Malory. 

When  she  had  finished  they  all  went  down  to  the 
secret  room  and  Master  Richard  asked  hundreds  of  ques- 
tions about  all  their  experiences.  They  examined 
everything  and  explored  the  secret  passage  to  the  cave 
and  back. 

"But  there  is  still  one  thing  that  we  have  to  do," 
said  Aline,  "and  that  is  to  open  the  great  iron  chest 
and  see  what  is  inside.  I  have  only  just  discovered  how 
it  is  done  and  there  is  a  good  deal  that  requires  doing 
first.  But  listen  to  this :  '  Exactly  under  the  middle  of 
the  great  oriel  window  of  the  library,  the  book  says, — 
that  a  foot  and  a  half  below  the  water  in  the  moat  is  a 
chain  made  of  links  of  greenheart  wood,  so  as  to  with- 
stand the  wet;  and  at  the  end  of  that  is  a  large  round 
ball  also  of  greenheart,  and  embedded  in  it  with  pitch  is 
the  great  key  of  the  iron  chest.  I  have  been  thinking  how 
to  get  it  and,  if  the  chain  has  not  rotted  and  we  do  not 
have  to  dredge  for  the  ball,  I  think  I  might  go  a-sailing 
for  it  in  a  tub,  which  would  be  fun.  We  might  see  to 
that  this  afternoon  and  then  open  the  chest  to-morrow. ' ' 

"You  will  probably  upset,"  said  Audry,  "but,  as 
you  can  swim  like  a  fish,  that  will  not  matter;  but  I 
shall  laugh  to  see  you  tumble  in." 

"You  bad  girl,"  said  Aline,  and  chased  her  round 
the  room.  "Well,  I  am  going  to  try  anyway." 

After  dinner  Master  Richard  went  and  ordered  two 
of  the  men  to  bring  a  great  tub  from  the  laundry,  while 
Aline  went  upstairs  and  changed  her  things,  putting  on 


A  TALE  OF  A  TUB  393 

a  pair  of  boy's  trunks.  She  then  threw  a  cloak  about 
her  and  came  down. 

The  tub  was  rolled  round  till  it  was  opposite  the 
window  and  then  Aline  insisted  that  the  serving  men 
should  go  away.  A  board,  hastily  thinned  down  at  one 
end,  made  a  sort  of  rude  paddle  and,  with  shrieks  of 
derision  from  Audry,  the  others  held  the  tub  and  Aline 
cautiously  got  in  and  squatted  tailor  wise  on  the  bottom. 
They  all  laughed  so  much  that  they  nearly  upset  the  tub 
at  the  outset. 

Aline  then  started  on  her  perilous  voyage,  but,  the 
tub  being  circular,  every  time  she  took  a  stroke  with 
the  paddle,  it  simply  spun  round  and  round. 

Those  on  the  bank  held  their  sides  with  laughter,  but 
the  more  they  laughed  the  more  confused  Aline  became. 
She  tried  taking  a  stroke  first  one  way  and  then  the 
other.  This  was  not  quite  so  bad,  but  the  tub  revolved 
backwards  and  forwards  like  a  balance  wheel. 

"Try  little  short  strokes  pulling  the  paddle  towards 
you,"  shouted  Ian,  when  the  laughter  had  a  little  sub- 
sided. This  answered  somewhat  better  and  the  tub 
slowly  made  its  way  across,  but  with  many  vagaries  and 
strange  gyrations. 

At  last  she  reached  the  wall  right  under  the  great 
projecting  corbel  of  the  window,  and,  very  cautiously 
putting  down  her  arm,  she  felt  the  chain. 

"Hurrah!"  she  shouted,  "I  have  it";  but  she  spoke 
too  soon.  As  she  pulled  the  chain,  the  tub  over-balanced 
and  Aline  tumbled  head  first  into  the  moat.  Audry 
collapsed  altogether  at  this  and  rolled  over  on  to  the 
grass. 

Ian,  however,  for  the  moment  took  it  seriously  and 


394  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

was  going  to  jump  in,  but  Audry  seized  one  of  his  ankles 
to  stop  him  and  laughed  still  more  till  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  "You'll  kill  me,  you  two,"  she  said, 
as  Aline 's  head  appeared  above  the  water  with  long 
green  weeds  hanging  in  her  hair. 

Aline  swam  to  the  chain  and  found  that  the  ball  was 
very  heavy.  She  then  righted  the  tub. 

"Get  in,  get  in  quickly,"  shouted  Audry  mischiev- 
ously, and  Aline,  without  thinking,  made  the  attempt 
with  the  result  that  the  tub  lifted  and  turned  over  on 
her  like  an  extinguisher.  Audry  was  convulsed. 

"You  little  mischief,"  said  Ian,  and  picked  her  up 
and  held  her  out  over  the  water  at  arm's  length;  but 
she  only  laughed  the  more. 

Aline  meanwhile  again  righted  the  tub  and  then 
shouted  to  the  others  to  bring  an  axe.  Audry  refused 
to  go.  She  said  she  must  wait  for  the  end  of  the  per- 
formance. So  Master  Richard  ran  and  called  one  of 
the  men,  who  brought  the  things  required. 

While  he  was  gone  Aline,  with  difficulty,  got  the  ball 
into  the  tub.  She  then  swam  across  for  the  axe  and, 
taking  it  over,  she  cut  the  chain,  threw  the  axe  in  with 
the  ball  and,  pushing  the  tub  before  her,  swam  back  to 
the  other  side. 

"You  will  be  getting  to  know  this  moat,"  said 
Audry,  as  Ian  pulled  Aline,  all  dripping,  up  the  bank. 
"This  is  your  third  adventure  in  the  moat  since  you 
came. ' ' 

She  then  went  up  and  changed  her  clothes  and  joined 
the  others  in  the  solar.  There  she  found  that  Father 
Laurence  had  just  arrived.  He  was  looking  worn  and 
worried,  but  a  smile  lit  up  his  face  as  Aline  came  in. 


A  TALE  OP  A  TUB  395 

The  old  man's  hand  trembled  as  he  laid  it  en  her 
head.  "You  are  growing  tall,  my  child;  we  shall  soon 
see  you  a  woman.  I  have  just  arrived  with  some  strange 
and  horrible  news,  which  I  have  been  telling  my  Lord 
of  Ochil.  You  remember  old  *  Moll  o '  the  graves, '  Aline. ' ' 

"Yes,  Father." 

"She's  dead,  my  child;  I  saw  her  a  few  minutes  ago 
on  my  way  up.  She  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  the 
Crags." 

Aline  shuddered. 

"We  cannot  leave  the  poor  creature  there,"  he  con- 
tinued; "can  you  let  me  have  a  couple  of  men,  Master 
Richard,  and  would  you  mind  her  lying  here  for  the 
night?  I  will  arrange  for  the  funeral  to-morrow." 

"Certainly,"  said  Master  Mowbray,  and  he  arose  and 
accompanied  Father  Laurence. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Aline  and  Ian  were  crossing 
the  courtyard  and  saw  the  bearers  carrying  the  body  on 
a  hurdle  into  the  room  below  the  granary.  Ian  at  once 
drew  Aline  away  in  another  direction,  that  she  should 
not  see  the  horrible  sight.  He  had  caught  one  glimpse 
of  the  face,  and  it  was  enough.  It  was  the  same  as  he 
had  seen  in  his  awful  vision  in  the  fire, — the  terrible 
grin, — the  blood  trickling  through  the  teeth.  "Come 
away,  little  one,  let  us  go  elsewhere,"  he  said. 

After  all  was  quiet  again,  Thomas  Carluke  walked 
stealthily  across  the  quadrangle  and  entered  the  room 
where  the  body  lay.  A  sheet  had  been  placed  over  it, 
but  he  drew  it  aside.  The  grin  on  the  face  seemed  to 
mock  him.  "Aha!"  he  said,  "you  fooled  me  twice,  you 
old  wretch,  but  you  will  never  do  it  again.  You  need 
not  laugh  at  me  like  that.  I  have  cleared  my  score 


396  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

with  you  now.  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  would 
get  rid  of  the  child? — and  they  got  her  out  of  the 
moat.  Did  you  not  tell  me  she  would  be  burnt? — and 
now  Queen  Mary  is  dead  and  there  are  no  more  burn- 
ings. You  miserable  worm,  what  was  the  good  of  your 
hate  ?  You  were  no  better  than  Andrew,  no  better  than 
Father  Ambrose.  Pah !  You  defied  me  just  now  on  the 
Crags,  did  you?  Well,  here  you  are;  and  I  would  do 
it  again.  Oh,  it  was  so  easy, — one  little  push.  Ha, 
you  still  mock ;  no,  you  cannot  hurt  me, — no,  no, ' '  he  re- 
peated apprehensively.  "You  are  dead,  you  cannot 
come  back.  I  will  not  believe  it.  The  devil  has  your 
soul.  But  I  must  go,  must  go." 

He  drew  the  sheet  over  the  body  again  and  went  out. 
"Fool,"  he  said  to  himself,  "what  am  I  afraid  of? 
Fool,  I  say." 

Meanwhile  Aline  was  walking  with  Audry  through 
the  garden. 

"I  am  glad  the  horrible  old  thing  is  gone,"  said 
Audry.  "Are  not  you?" 

"It  seems  too  dreadful  to  say  so,"  Aline  answered, 
"but  I  cannot  pretend  that  I  am  sorry.  She  always 
seemed  to  me  a  sort  of  evil  influence,  a  spirit  of  dis- 
cord and  hate." 

"Yes,"  said  Audry,  slipping  her  arm  round  Aline 's 
waist,  "just  as  you  are  the  spirit  of  love." 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Audry;  besides  I  do  not  believe 
that  any  one  could  love  everybody." 

"No,  but  need  you  hate  them?  Come  now,  did  you 
hate  old  Moll?" 

"I  do  not  know;  somehow  she  seemed  too  mean,  too 


A  TALE  OP  A  TUB  397 

petty  and  spiteful  to  hate.  You  could  not  fight  her  ex- 
actly. She  was  not  worth  fighting,  so  to  speak. ' ' 

"But  I  always  felt,"  said  Audry,  ''that  behind  the 
old  woman,  not  in  the  old  woman  herself,  was  a  power 
of  evil  and  hate,  a  great  power  that  could  be  fought." 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  so.  I  think  there  are  things  to  hate. 
I  do  not  believe  in  sickly  sentiment;  but  that  poor 
wretched  old  woman  in  herself  was  rather  a  thing  to  be 
pitied  than  hated,  and,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I 
never  did  meet  any  one  really  to  hate. ' ' 

"What  about  Thomas?" 

"That  is  just  a  case  in  point,"  said  Aline.  "I  de- 
spise him,  pity  him,  but  one  would  lose  one's  own  dig- 
nity in  hating  such  a  poor  thing.  Now  if  one  could  find 
some  one  really  strong,  really  great  and  wicked,  one 
could  hate  them.  But  no  one  of  that  sort  has  ever  come 
my  way." 

"Have  you  thought  of  Father  Martin?" 

"I  did  not  hate  him.  I  was  afraid  of  him  and  I  did 
not  think  him  altogether  a  good  man;  but  in  the  main 
he  seemed  to  act  up  to  his  lights.  Father  Austin,  I 
might  have  hated,  perhaps;  but  I  do  not  know  enough 
about  him.  There  is  some  one  over  there  that  I  love," 
she  said  suddenly,  as  Father  Laurence  appeared  at  the 
other  end  of  the  garden.  "I  think  he  is  the  best  man 
I  have  ever  seen." 

' '  Better  than  Ian  ? ' '  asked  Audry. 

"I  do  not  know,  and  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  say. 
Dear  Ian.  I  used  to  feel  that  there  was  something 
weak  about  him,  but  I  think  I  was  wrong.  The  won- 
derful thing  about  him  is  that  he  is  developed  on  every 
side.  It  is  true  that  we  have  mainly  seen  the  softer 


398  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

side  and  also  for  a  great  part  of  the  time  he  has  been 
ill.  But  I  keep  discovering  new  things  in  his  charac- 
ter. In  any  case  he  has  a  far  more  difficult  position 
than  Father  Laurence.  I  should  think  that  really  it 
would  be  a  much  easier  thing  to  retire  from  the  world 
like  a  priest,  than  to  try  and  make  oneself  a  more 
complete  and  fully  developed  being  and  remain  in  the 
world.  And  after  all,  the  world  would  cease  to  exist  if 
we  were  all  priests  and  nuns.  To  live  the  worldly  life 
is  certainly  the  lowest,  and  to  come  out  of  the  world  is 
higher  than  that;  yet  I  am  not  sure  that  there  is  not 
something  harder  and  higher  still ;  and  I  believe  Ian  has 
done  it ;  but  here  comes  Father  Laurence. ' ' 

The  children  ran  to  him,  and  the  three  walked  round 
the  garden  together.  It  was  a  rare  picture,  the  fine 
tall  figure,  slightly  bent,  with  the  wonderful  spiritual 
face,  an  epitome  of  the  glory  of  age,  and  the  two  ex- 
quisite children,  just  approaching  the  threshold,  on  the 
other  side  of  which  they  would  soon  reach  the  mysteries 
of  adult  life. 

After  they  had  talked  for  some  time  Audry  asked, 
"How  do  you  suppose,  Father,  that  Moll  met  her 
death !" 

' '  I  cannot  say,  my  children ;  she  may  have  fallen  over 
by  accident,  but  Master  Richard  thinks  that  she  threw 
herself  over.  You  know,  little  girl,  how  she  hated  you, ' ' 
he  said,  turning  to  Aline,  "and  she  must  have  been 
bitterly  chagrined  that  everything  has  gone  so  well  with 
you.  Perhaps  he  is  right,  but  let  us  speak  of  other 
things." 

He  stopped,  and  for  a  time  no  one  said  anything  at 
all.  Then,  moved  by  some  motive  that  he  could  not  ex- 


A  TALE  OP  A  TUB  399 

plain,  he  went  on, — "Children,  I  shall  soon  have  to  bid 
you  farewell." 

' '  Oh,  why  ? ' '  they  both  said  in  a  breath. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  prompts  me  to  tell  you,  Mistress 
Aline,"  he  said. 

Aline  started;  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  ad- 
dressed her  like  that;  and  the  old  man  continued, — 
"I  have  not  yet  said  anything  to  any  one  else,  even 
of  the  old  faith;  and  I  know,  child,"  he  went  on,  drop- 
ping into  the  more  familiar  manner,  "that  you  are  not 
of  us;  so  why  I  should  tell  you,  a  mere  child,  and  a 
heretic," — he  lingered  on  the  word  regretfully, — "I  am 
unable  to  say.  The  Queen's  Grace  is  minded  that  there 
shall  be  an  act  of  Uniformity  for  this  realm  and  that 
the  prayer  book  of  1552  shall  be  re-affirmed.  It  liketh 
me  not  and  I  shall  not  subscribe  and  therefore  shall 
lose  my  benefice.  I  had  hoped  to  end  my  days  in  Mid- 
dleton,  but  it  cannot  be,  and  I  must,  if  he  be  willing, 
take  up  my  abode  with  my  nephew.  It  will  be  a  sore 
grief  to  me  after  all  these  years. 

"But  my  work  is  done  and  I  must  not  repine.  One 
thing,  Aline,  child,  I  would  say,  and  that  is  this, — thou 
mindest  how  I  have  ever  told  thee  that  the  light  must 
overcome  the  dark,  and  so  has  it  been  with  the  machina- 
tions of  that  poor  evil  woman.  So  hath  it  been  with 
you;  not  that  it  will  be  ever  so  with  things  temporal, 
but  it  will  be  so  in  the  world  of  the  unseen  and  eternal. 
But  farewell,  my  children,  and  I  must  go.  Benedicat 
vos  omnipotens  Deus,  in  nomine  Patris  et  Filii  et  Spiritus 
Sancti.  Amen. ' '  * 

*  May  almighty  God.  bless  you,  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  the 
Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit.  Amen. 


400  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

When  he  had  gone  Audry  said,  "How  unjust  it  is 
that  Father  Ambrose  will  remain  and  that  Father 
Laurence  should  go." 

"How  so?"  said  Aline. 

' '  Have  you  not  heard ;  Father  Ambrose  hath  said  that 
he  will  subscribe  to  anything  that  will  keep  his  place, 
and  he  is  the  very  man  who  persecuted  you  in  the 
name  of  the  Church?" 

"What  a  scoundrel!"  said  Aline.  "I  had  liever  see 
Father  Laurence,  the  Catholic,  than  Father  Ambrose, 
the  protestant,  hold  his  own,  protestant  though  I  be. 
I  must  see  if  the  Duke  may  not  be  able  to  do  something, 
though  he  be  not  of  this  realm.  Now  that  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's Grace  hath  come  to  the  throne  he  hath  many 
friends  who  are  right  powerful  in  this  land.  Father 
Laurence  is  an  old  man,  and  will  not  be  long  in  this  life 
in  anywise;  methinks  it  will  not  be  a  hard  matter." 

"I  hope  you  will  succeed,"  said  Audry,  "and  I  shall 
do  my  best  with  Master  Richard  that  Father  Ambrose  be 
moved,  whatever  dishonest  shifts  he  may  practice." 

They  had  reached  the  door  that  led  into  the  garden. 
' '  Come,  Audry,  the  afternoon  is  spent  and  it  is  time  for 
supper. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   GREAT   IRON   CHEST 

THE  next  morning  Master  Mowbray  went  over 
to  Newbiggin  to  look  at  the  cottage  that  had 
been  occupied  by  "Moll  o'  the  graves,"  as  it 
was  his  property,  on  the  old  Middleton  estate  which  was 
much  larger  and  more  important  than  Holwick.    The 
cottage  was  in  poor  condition  and  he  decided  that  it 
should  be  rebuilt.     It  was  dinner  time  before  he  came 
back,  so  they  were  not  able  to  go  down  to  the  secret  room 
till  the  afternoon. 

"Now,"  said  Aline,  as  they  entered,  "first  the  chest 
has  to  be  laid  on  its  back." 

This  they  tried  to  do,  but  it  was  too  heavy.  They 
pushed  and  pulled,  but  they  could  not  stir  it. 

"Let  us  use  some  of  those  stout  poles  there,  standing 
in  the  corner, ' '  said  Ian ;  ' '  then  we  can  lever  it  over. ' ' 

This  they  did  and  with  some  difficulty  the  chest  was 
turned  over. 

"I  expect  that  is  the  very  thing  for  which  the  poles 
were  used,"  Audry  suggested. 

"Probably,"  said  Aline,  as  she  put  her  finger  on  the 
top  right  hand  rivet  head  and  slid  it  an  inch  to  the 
left. 

"Oh,  that  is  how  it  works,"  exclaimed  Master  Rich- 
ard, greatly  interested. 

401 


402  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

"Now  you  have  to  turn  it  back  again." 

' '  Oh,  dear, ' '  they  all  cried ;  but  set  to  work,  and  again 
the  chest  stood  upright.  Aline  then  moved  the  second 
rivet  in  the  same  way. 

"Now  turn  it  over  again,"  she  said. 

"This  is  too  much,  we  are  not  galley  slaves,"  expos- 
tulated Ian.  "You  are  a  tyrant,  Your  Highness." 

"Well,  anyway  I  help,  my  Lord,"  answered  Aline, 
with  mock  gravity. 

"  'Help,'  you  wee  kitten!"  said  Master  Richard; 
"I  think  I  do  most  of  this;  and  it  is  my  belief,"  he 
added, ' '  that  it  is  not  to  my  interest  that  the  chest  should 
be  opened  at  all." 

"Why  not?"  they  all  exclaimed. 

"Never  mind.  Come.  I  want  to  see  what's  inside 
i'  faith." 

Once  again  they  heaved  and  tugged  and  turned  it 
over.  Aline  then  moved  the  rivet.  "Now  turn  it  back 
again. ' ' 

"Look  here,  we  cannot  go  on  that  way,"  said  Master 
Richard.  "There  must  be  thirty  rivets.  We  shall  re- 
bel, my  liege." 

"No,  you  must  do  your  duty." 

So  once  more  they  struggled  and  turned  it  back. 

"There,  you  have  done  your  part,"  said  Aline,  and 
they  all  stood  round  and  laughed  at  each  other,  when 
they  saw  how  hot  they  looked.  Every  one  watched 
Aline  with  great  curiosity  as  she  now  slid  aside  the 
whole  of  one  of  the  iron  plates  of  the  chest  and  dis- 
closed a  small  lock.  Into  this  she  fitted  a  key  and 
turned  it  with  some  difficulty.  It  was  the  key  on  the 
bunch  in  the  library,  whose  use  Master  Richard  had  not 


THE  GREAT  IRON  CHEST  403 

known.  This  enabled  all  the  central  part  of  the  front 
to  hinge  down  and  disclose  the  large  lock  to  which  be- 
longed the  "key  from  the  moat. 

The  lid  was  very  heavy  and  it  took  two  of  them  to 
open  it.  The  contents  were  covered  by  a  black  velvet 
cloth,  and  above  it  lay  a  parchment  upon  which  was  in- 
scribed in  large  letters: 

ALINE  GILLESPIE 
IN  ACCORDANCE  WITH  MY  WILL,  WHICH 
LIETH  BEHIND  THE  LOCK  OPPOSITE  THAT 
WHICH  CONCEALETH  THE  BOOK. 

JAMES  MOWBRAY. 

Aline  gazed  in  blank  astonishment  when  she  saw  her 
own  name. 

"That  is  your  great-grandmother's  name,"  said  Mas- 
ter Richard,  "but  it  is  all  right,  the  chest  is  yours  all 
the  same,  as  you  are  the  sole  heiress  of  that  line.  But 
if  you  do  not  mind  I  should  like  to  see  the  will,  even 
before  you  lift  the  velvet  cloth." 

Aline  ran  upstairs,  her  heart  beating  with  wild  ex- 
citement, and  was  followed  by  Audry.  The  lock  moved 
exactly  as  the  other  one  had  done  and  there  lay  the  lost 
will. 

' '  How  stupid  of  us  not  to  find  it  before, ' '  said  Audry, 
"but,  oh,  I  am  so  glad  that  something  really  good  has 
come  to  you  at  last." 

They  ran  down  again. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Audry,  who  was  holding  the  will. 

"Let  his  Grace  read  it,"  said  Master  Richard,  "as 
he  is  a  disinterested  party. ' ' 

It  was  a  long  will,  but  the  tenour  of  it  was, — that  the 
old  Mowbray  estates  at  Middleton  went  to  James  Mow- 


404  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

bray's  son,  but  the  little  Holwick  property,  with  half 
the  contents  of  the  library,  was  left  to  his  daughter, 
Aline,  and  to  her  heirs  after  her  forever. 

The  will  concluded, — "And  that  the  said  Aline 
Gillespie  and  my  son-in-law  Angus  Gillespie  may  be  able 
to  keep  up  the  Holwick  estate  in  a  manner  that  is  be- 
fitting, I  also  bequeath  for  the  use  of  the  said  Aline 
and  Angus  and  their  heirs  after  them  the  great  iron 
chest  and  its  contents,  the  which  chest,  with  the  name 
of  Aline  Gillespie  inside,  is  now  within  the  secret  room ; 
and  the  means  for  the  discovery  of  all  these  things  are 
in  the  little  book  in  the  library,  concealed  in  the  lock 
opposite  to  this.  The  parchment  with  holes,  that  is  hid- 
den in  the  cover  of  the  aforesaid  book,  is  to  be  placed 
over  each  page  in  turn  and  the  letters  that  appear 
through  the  holes  may  then  be  read  as  words. ' ' 

"Well,  little  one,  I  always  suspected  that  the  Hol- 
wick property  might  be  yours ;  but  James  Mowbray  died 
suddenly  and  the  will  was  never  found,"  said  Master 
Richard. 

He  saw  clouds  of  anxiety  gathering  on  the  child 's  face, 
so  he  went  on, — ' '  You  must  not  think  about  it  now ;  let 
us  look  at  the  chest." 

Aline  lifted  the  velvet  and  on  the  top  was  a  tray. 
It  was  filled  with  orphreys  and  other  embroideries  of 
the  celebrated  opus  anglicum  and  was  of  immense  value. 
So  perfectly  had  the  chest  fitted  that  the  colours  were  all 
as  marvellous  as  the  day  they  were  done. 

Below  this  was  another  tray,  which  contained  ex- 
quisitely carved  ivories  and  wonderful  enamel  work,  sev- 
eral beautifully  bound  illuminated  manuscripts  of  the 
highest  possible  excellence,  many  of  the  covers  being 


THE  GREAT  IRON  CHEST  405 

elaborately  garnished  with  precious  stones,  and  two  jew- 
elled swords,  one  of  Spanish  make  and  one  from  Ferrara 
that  almost  equalled  lan's  own. 

Beneath  this  tray  again  was  a  layer  of  soft  leather 
bags  in  ten  rows  of  five  each,  every  one  of  which  con- 
tained five  hundred  gold  pieces. 

This  brought  them  about  one-third  of  the  way  down 
the  chest.  The  remainder  was  in  three  portions.  In 
the  middle  was  a  large  oak  box,  that  exactly  fitted  from 
front  to  back,  and  left  about  a  fifth  of  the  chest  on  each 
side.  These  fifths  were  filled  with  solid  gold  and  silver 
bars,  packed  like  bricks  to  fill  every  crevice.  Their  total 
value  was  four  or  five  times  that  of  the  gold  pieces  in 
the  bags. 

Richard  Mowbray  and  Ian  lifted  out  the  oak  box  and 
it  was  found  to  contain  a  collection  composed  of  the 
choicest  examples  of  art  in  metal  work  that  any  of  them 
had  ever  seen  in  their  lives.  There  were  large  mazers 
and  other  cups,  a  wonderful  nef ,  and  skilfully  wrought 
platters.  There  were  daggers  and  hunting  horns  and 
belts.  There  were  chatelaines  and  embracelets  and  dia- 
dems. Then  in  a  smaller  receptable  were  lesser  things, 
such  as  rings,  pendants,  necklaces,  chains,  clasps  and 
buckles.  But  finely  jewelled  as  many  of  them  were,  it 
was  the  supreme  art  of  the  designs  and  the  craftsman- 
ship of  their  execution  that  was  their  main  attraction. 

Little  Aline  was  too  overcome  to  speak.  At  last  she 
recovered  herself  sufficiently  to  say; — "And  are  all  of 
these  things  mine?" 

"Of  course  they  are,"  said  Master  Richard,  "and  I 
do  not  know  any  one  more  worthy  of  them." 

She  was  silent  for  some  time  and  then  said, — "Well, 


406  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  MOAT 

we  cannot  leave  them  all  lying  round.  I  must  put 
everything  back." 

The  others  helped  and,  although  every  one  kept  com- 
menting on  the  lovely  things  and  the  strange  experience, 
Aline  never  said  a  word  all  the  time.  It  was  clear  that 
she  was  thinking  hard  and  that  the  putting  back  of  the 
things  was  only  to  give  her  an  opportunity  to  settle  her 
thoughts. 

When  they  had  finished  they  all  stood  up. 

"Now  we  can  save  the  Ochil  estates,"  said  Aline  tri- 
umphantly. "Ian,  I  give  you  half  the  gold  and  silver 
and  one  of  the  swords,  and  you  are  to  have  the  other 
half,  Audry  darling,  and  Cousin  Richard  is  to  have  Hoi- 
wick  Hall  as  long  as  he  lives  and  the  other  sword.  Then 
everybody  is  to  have  some  nice  presents  from  the  trays 
and  the  box,  Audry  and  Cousin  Richard,  and  Joan  and 
Mistress  Mowbray  and  all  the  others,  and  Ian  is  to  have 
the  rest." 

"Impossible,"  said  Ian. 

' '  Nonsense, ' '  said  Master  Richard. 

"Absurd,"  said  Audry. 

"I  absolutely  mean  what  I  say,"  said  Aline. 

"But  you  have  left  nothing  for  yourself,"  objected 
Audry. 

"Yes,  I  shall  have  Hoi  wick  when  I  am  old  and  no 
longer  able  to  do  anything;  and  if  you  are  not  married 
we  can  live  together." 

"My  little  maiden  must  not  be  foolish,"  said  Ian. 
' '  I  think  you  are  quite  right  to  let  Audry  have  half,  un- 
less you  let  Cousin  Richard  have  the  use  of  it  first,  for 
it  would  go  to  Audry,  and  I  am  sure  you  are  right  about 
Holwick;  but  my  estates  have  nothing  to  do  with  you, 


407 

sweet  child.  Besides  how  are  you  going  to  live  until 
you  are  too  old  to  do  anything?  You  cannot  go  a  beg- 
ging, princess,  and  some  one  would  have  to  take  care 
of  you." 

"0  dear,  I  had  not  thought  about  that.  Yes,  I  sup- 
pose I  should  need  some  one  to  look  after  me." 

"I  will  look  after  you,  little  heart,  if  Cousin  Richard 
will  let  me, ' '  said  Ian  softly. 

Richard  Mowbray  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  "I  agree,"  he  said. 

Aline  put  up  her  hands  and  drew  down  lan's  face 
till  their  lips  met.  A  look  of  happy  content  shone  in 
her  eyes.  "Then  I  shall  be  well  protected,"  she  said. 

My  dear  Children: 

The  time  has  now  come  to  say  good-bye,  both  to  you  and  Aline; 
but  it  might  interest  you  to  know  that  I  read  the  story  to  a 
little  girl  before  it  was  quite  finished  and  asked  her  if  there  was 
anything  she  would  like  to  suggest.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "a  birthday 
party." 

Now  a  sixteenth  century  birthday  party  was  rather  a  difficulty 
as  I  never  saw  one  described;  but  then  there  were  so  many  dif- 
ficulties of  that  sort.  People  in  those  days,  for  instance,  thought 
that  shaking  hands  was  a  much  warmer  sign  of  affection  than 
kissing.  You  probably  know  that  in  France  men  still  kiss  each 
other  at  the  railway  station.  But  that  would  not  do  for  my 
story.  So,  as  in  the  case  of  language,  I  have  modernized  to  suit 
my  purpose.  When,  therefore,  your  learned  uncle  tells  you  that 
the  story  is  all  wrong  and  that  they  did  not  fence  with  helmets 
and  that  the  curtsey  was  not  invented  till  much  later  and  that 
the  library  is  far  too  big  and  so  on;  you  just  tell  him  to  write 
you  a  sixteenth  century  story  and  then  you  send  it  to  me,  and  we 
will  see  how  he  gets  along. 

If  any  of  you  would  write  to  me  and  tell  me  what  you  would 
like  altered  or  what  else  you  would  like  put  in,  I  should  be  de- 
lighted. The  story  is  only  written  to  please  you  and  I  wish  I  could 
see  you  and  tell  it  to  you  myself.  Also  you  might  let  me  know 
what  you  think  ought  to  happen  to  Aline  and  then,  if  you  like 


408  THE  CHILD  OP  THE  MOAT 

the  story,  I  will  write  you  a  sequel.     But  you  must  tell  me  how 
old  you  are,  that  is  a  very  important  point. 

With  best  wishes  from  Avis  and  myself; — now  do  not  tell  me 
that  you  do  not  know  who  Avis  is, — look  at  the  dedication  and 
the  first  chapter  and  guess. 

Yours  aff'ly, 

IAN  B.  STOUGHTON  HOLBOBN. 
1735  Grand  Central  Terminal, 

New  York  City, 
(or,  in  Britain,  Merton  College,  Oxford). 


A<  '      '      '  I    J        I    |    J       | 

000  065  442 


